The Only One
by CC.V.RG
Summary: Legolas was a valuable member of the Fellowship...but what if "he" had been a "she"? Genderbent Legolas Greenleaf. No slash, No Legolas-bashing, and NOT A MARY-SUE! Characters may be a bit OOC, however. Chapter 34 up - "Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow"
1. Uneventful Indeed

**ANY characters mentioned in this story do not belong to me! As much as I would LOVE to own one elf—just one, tiny little elf—alas, I do not. All of the characters and plots belong to the creative geniuses of J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson (the lines in this story are based on the movie).**

**This is my first fic, so it'll probably be…ah, how shall I say this, "bad." But I'll try anyway.**

**Note: the bolded lines next to any Elvish is the English translation…there will also be a small little dictionary at the end!**

**Oh, and another note: in case you don't know, "Estel" is Aragorn's Elvish name, when he lived in Rivendell as a child.**

**No betas on this. Just little ol' me.**

Chapter 1 – Uneventful Indeed

* * *

"**I saw something…or I thought I did—away westwards where the moonlight was falling on the flats beyond the shadow of the hill-tops, I **_**thought**_** there were two or three black shapes. They seemed to be moving this way…"**

**~ Merry, "A Knife in the Dark"**

* * *

Imladris **| Rivendell |**. The Hidden Valley. Rivendell. Home of the Half-Elves. Or, more simply, the House of Elrond. Ai, it had many names. But over the centuries, it had come to be my second home.

Imladris was nothing at all like Mirkwood, Greenwood the Great, (as it was once called), or even Doriath, the place of my birth. No orc has ever penetrated the defenses of the valley, and none ever shall: not while Glorfindel still draws breath, at least.

Rivendell may very well be the last remaining good place on Middle-Earth; the last one worth defending. Mirkwood was penetrated by the darkness of Dol Guldur long ago; and my people had been pushed further and further back into the forest. Lothlórien was beginning to fade. Soon, my distant relative-cum-adoptive grandmother the Lady Galadriel would sail to Valinor…along with the rest of our people. Men had all but given up trying to save their lands; Gondor and Rohan held back the darkness from Mordor again and again, but they could not hold out forever.

But today…today was not a day of complaints for me.

I was grinning recklessly as I spurred my horse on past the gates and dismounted, knowing quite well whom I would be seeing in a few short minutes. The children of Elrond had captured my heart many millennia ago, and while I had only known Estel for about eight decades – since he was just a babe of four – I had fallen under his spell just as I had the others.

The twins, Elrohir and Elladan, were more devious than _anybody_ – man, elf, hobbit, or dwarf – I had _ever_ met in my very long life. They were always playing pranks on their father, Erestor, or Glorfindel, all of which seemed to involve me in some way, much to my chagrin. Elladan was like the brother I never had, always wise enough to know what I was thinking. But Elrohir…Elrohir was something different. Blood seemed to rush through my body quicker and heavier, making my skin feel hot to the touch whenever I saw him. Perhaps I _did_ love him, I was mature enough to admit that to myself, but how could I possibly know if he felt the same way? The only person on Arda **| Middle-Earth |** who knew this was the one who would always understand.

Arwen Undómiel. The Lady of Rivendell. The Evenstar. And easily the best female friend that I had. Despite our age gap, Arwen always seemed to understand the strife I went through: especially after my mother's death. Celebrian had sailed the ship to Valinor around the same time of my own Ammë's **| Mother's |** murder, leaving both of our fathers trying desperately to help us pass through the grief. Through our similarities, I soon learned to love Arwen like a little sister; something which reminded my father and Lord Elrond that the petty disagreements they occasionally had were truly useless and pointless (something we had been trying to tell them for centuries).

And after Arwen was so encouraging when I admitted my love for Elrohir, how could I not support her love for yet another good friend? Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor. To disguise his identity, he was sometimes known as Strider. To his fellow Dunedain Rangers, he was simply Aragorn: one of the remaining Numenorians, blessed with long life. But to me, and to his family, he was, and always will be, Estel Elrondian. My elen-gwanûr **| star-brother |**. My fellow warrior. My friend. I had known the human since he was four, when he had gotten himself kidnapped by orcs (an adventure that involved the twins, reckless horses, bloodshed, and my hair being so saturated in mud that it took me days to wash it all out). Ever since I had saved him that day, I had been with Estel, always standing beside him on the brink of darkness. I swore an oath long ago; promising to look after him, and I intended to keep that vow.

And so, we come in full circle. To the elf making her way up the stairs to the Last Homely House of Imladris. Ellacári Greenleaf. The only child of the King of Mirkwood, Thranduil Oropherion. Princess of Light, Lady of the Forest, Child of the Valar, etcetera, etcetera, so on and so forth. Names which I have no use for. I shall forever be simply Ellacári, elleth **| elf (fem.) |** warrior.

My father had attempted to dissuade me from becoming a warrior many times, but I believe his eventual reasoning was that he would rather knowingly send me off to war than have me keep disappearing in the middle of the night with a sword and freshly cut hair as a disguise. I was the only heir to the throne of Mirkwood, and though my closeness to danger allowed me to understand my fellow warriors better than my father, it also required close calls to death, and my father's frantic mother-henning afterwards.

I was not dead yet, however, and I was sent to Imladris to attend the upcoming Council as a representative of Mirkwood. Atto **| Father |** must have realized that if this was as important as he believed, the heir to the throne should attend if the king himself could not.

Despite my true purpose for being there, the Council was far from my mind: my thoughts dwelling more on raids and patrols, on visions of slaughtering orcs with Glorfindel or Elrohir and Elladan. Killing orcs had been one of the bigger aspects of my life for many a century; and with that, diplomacy and economics that my father insisted on teaching me had become a waste of time when the Dark Lord was sending forth more and more evil creatures from Barad-dûr and Dol Guldur, surrounding my home with the armies of the foul beings.

But tonight I was to face something far darker than orcs, little to my knowledge of course. The moment I arrived in the valley, my good mood abruptly disappeared. Something was not right. For one thing, there were no elves walking about. This meant that they were either out patrolling, or all in their homes. And if it was the latter, it meant my friends would be in the Hall of Fire. I hurried up the steps, across the bridge, and into the Hall, where Erestor, Glorfindel, Lord Elrond, the twins, and Arwen were sitting. A servant hurried in after me, and announced in a flurry of words. "My Lord Elrond, Princess Ellacári, Daughter of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm and Heiress to the Lady Elbereth, Queen of Light, has arrived. Do you wish for me to send her in?"

I looked disbelievingly at the elf, who motioned for me to step outside so he could "send me in." My brow furrowed as Glorfindel laughed at the servant's hurt and slightly scared expression. He rose from his chair, and said "Please, princess, join us. We have been expecting you."

I smiled gratefully as the servant was dismissed, and reclined in a chair between Arwen and Elrohir (my heart rate already beginning to speed up with him next to me), with Elladan on the other side of his twin.

"Welcome back, Ellacári. How is your father? Does he send word?"

I nodded, and stood, as is tradition and protocol. "Indeed he does, my Lord. My King sends his regrets that he could not join this council you have sent word about, for as of late, orcs and spiders have been multiplying in numbers never seen before. He sends his daughter as a representative of him, however."

Elladan snickered. "Obviously." I hit him over the head with my palm. "Ow!" He complained. I smiled smugly – Elrohir snickering beside me – before sitting down.

Elrond chuckled briefly at our bickering, but quickly immersed himself in the conversation that I had interrupted.

"I believe we were just discussing my adventurous son." I looked at Elladan and Elrohir, and seeing that they were still here, and had worried looks once again on their faces, I sighed, and muttered the only possible person it could be. "Aragorn."

Erestor nodded to me, and said to Lord Elrond "The trees told us that he is now past the human village of Bree, with four Halflings in tow. Not to mention at least five wraiths he has managed to pick up along the way." The Seneschal sighed, shaking his head while pinching the bridge of his nose. "We do not know where the others are, but it seems highly unlikely that all nine are following him."

I looked at Arwen, and whispered so that I would not interrupt the conversation, "Why would the wraiths follow Aragorn? He does not have anything of worth, does he? Besides his lineage of course." Arwen shook her head, and said softly, "The One Ring has been found, El."

The rest of the elves in the room fell silent, and I knew at once that this was true. All the blood drained from my face. "The One Ring? Sauron's Ring?" I asked softly, fearing a confirming answer.

Elrond didn't say anything at first, just stood and, turning towards one of the windows, recited: "One Ring to rule them all, one ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them."

Elladan continued. "In the Land of Mordor…"  
"…where the Shadows lie." His twin finished.

All of them were silent. Just saying it out loud cemented something horrible. Something none of us had wanted to admit.

Sauron was not only rising again…but he now had the power and means to be able to succeed.

Erestor broke the silence by coughing slightly and saying, "It is residing with a hobbit, is it not?"

I looked up in surprise at this. A hobbit? Whom would Aragorn trust with such a burden as this? Perhaps Bilbo Baggins…who nearly eight decades ago had invaded my father's realm with a small army of dwarves, giving truth to my father's words: Never, under any circumstances, trust a dwarf.

Little did he know, that I would soon befriend one under…very…_strange_ circumstances.

Arwen's eyes narrowed and she asked "Bilbo?"

Elrond shook his head. "No, one of his kinsfolk. His nephew, I believe." I blinked, absorbing all this information. The One Ring was in the possession of a Halfling, and this Halfling was being led by Estel to Rivendell. Seemingly easy, if not for the Nazgûl chasing him to the Hidden Valley. Hopefully Imladris would remain hidden enough.

I sat against the chair, the conversation continuing around me, as I extended my sight from Rivendell to the World-Tower, otherwise known as Amon Suol, or Weathertop to the Second-Born. There, I saw a surprising event, one that shocked me into stillness in my seat.

I watched as four Halflings in a tight group drew their swords, one of them, I noticed absently, was of Elvish make. The first one attacked a wraith advancing on them, with a cry of "Back you devils!" but was thrown to the side. The second two tried to shield the dark-haired Halfling, but were also dismissed quickly.

The last hobbit stumbled backwards, trying to escape the robed wraith. I knew that there was no escaping this, as he was cornered against a stone pillar. I watched in awed horror as the hobbit put on the One Ring. And my vision clouded as the hobbit disappeared before my eyes. I could see the Witch King draw his sword, and stab where the hobbit used to be. There was an anguished scream, and the hobbit reappeared with a Morgul wound in his heart.

I gasped in horror. The Halfling was screaming now; I could almost see the poison and shadow working its way through his small body. I was now almost positive the Halfling would be lost to Shadow.

And that is when Aragorn obstructed my vision.

The ranger leapt with easy agility in front of the Witch King, and I shouted angrily in my mind: _Estel! Have you gone mad?! Five wraiths at once? What are you…?  
_

Fortunately, Aragorn proved me wrong again. A torch appeared in his grasp, and he waved the Witch King back with its flames, the fire licking its way up the branch.

"Frodo!" the sandy-haired perian **| hobbit |** yelled, running over to his injured companion. The hobbit answered back with a halfhearted pant. "Sam…"

Seeing the torch Estel bared the wraiths fled, and I saw Aragorn finish the last one off with a flick of his arm; the torch sped through the air, and landed directly on the Witch King's robes. They caught aflame, and the screaming wraith disappeared into the abyss.

I turned my attention back to the Halfling, as did Aragorn.

The sandy-haired perian kneeling beside the victim called out to my friend. "Strider!" The two other hobbits were now surrounding this "Frodo", comforting his anguished wails as Estel examined the blade.

He spoke my thoughts aloud. "He has been stabbed by a Morgul blade." His hands touched the hilt, and the blade crumbled to ash as human flesh wielded the weapon.

The sandy-haired one, "Sam", was weeping as Aragorn took up the Halfling, speaking to his companions as he did so. "This is beyond my skillty. He needs Elvish medicine."

The vision faded away with his words. As I gathered my wits and took hold of my surroundings, I noticed that Lord Elrond was staring at me intently. Arwen gripped my shoulder and asked softly, "Ellacári, what did you see?"

I took a deep breath to steady myself, and spoke of the vision I had seen. "They were at Amon Suol. The wraiths caught up with them…the ring-bearer, Frodo…he was stabbed by the Witch King."

Erestor gasped in horror, while Glorfindel simply closed his eyes, his skin turning sallow. Elrond stood in silent consideration, although you could tell that he was distressed by the sickly pale color his complexion became. "Estel saved them. But Frodo is hurt badly. They are only six days from Imladris, my Lord. They will never make it without an Elvish steed."

I thought about this, and then stood up in sudden realization of who needed to go. Elrond saw my train of thought. "No, Ellacári, it is too dangerous. Your father would have my head if he knew I had sent you out alone when we knew that the Nine were about. We will send a party of…"

Arwen supported me quietly. "Ada **| Daddy |**, Cári will be able to go quicker alone. She is more adept to protect the perian from the Nine than any other elf, other than Elbereth herself. They fear her power…I do not think that they will attack her outright, and if they do chase her, it would be to weaken her steed's strength. As for her father…" she paused, looking at me. "Thranduil does not have to know anything."

I smirked at her. Arwen was truly Dan and Ro's sister.

Elrond looked at his advisors. Glorfindel shrugged, but a twinkle in his eyes showed his approval. Erestor grumbled something about foolish wood-elves, but nodded his support as well.

Lord Elrond sighed, and nodded. I leapt from my chair before he had time to change his mind, and sprinted out of the Hall to the stables.

My mind absently began searching the woods surrounding Amon Suol as I leapt upon a white stallion with neither saddle, nor bridle. I found the party a little less than a league away from the watch tower. At the rate they were running, I would find them in two days perhaps, if I only stopped for rest when my horse deemed it necessary.

As I sped off toward the eastern gate of the valley, I said a little prayer to Elbereth: _Héri-ello Cal, lar-nîn yesta: eteleht coile yare ni raht-tien. I Valar, eteleht coile. _**| Lady of Light, hear my plea: let them be alive when I reach them. By the Valar, let them be alive |**.

* * *

Translations –

* NOTE: _ITALICIZED = QUENYA_; **BOLDED = SINDARIN ***

**Imladris – Rivendell**

_Arda – Middle-Earth_

_Ammë – Mother/Mommy_

**Elen-gwanûr – Star-brother**

**Elleth – Elf (fem.)**

_Atto – Father_

**Perian – Hobbit**

**Ada – Daddy**

_Héri-ello Cal, lar-nîn yesta: eteleht coile yare ni raht-tien. I Valar, eteleht coile. – Lady of Light, hear my plea: let them be alive when I reach them. By the Valar, let them be alive._

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**Word-Count: 2682**

**Note about Translations: Since Quenya was basically only used during the First Age (by the High Elves + Noldor), and is Ellacári's first language (because she's a High Elf), it'll be used for her inward thoughts/prayers, in addition to her interactions with any other elves who would've had Quenya as their first language (i.e. Thranduil, Galadriel, etc.). Sindarin will be used for all other dialogue/interactions.  
**

**Hope you don't completely flame me. This is my first fic that I've published, so, it'll probably get really sucky reviews. Again, flames, while disappointing, are welcome. I can deal with criticism! :)**

**~ CC. **


	2. Flight to the Ford

**Again, any characters mentioned in the story, are not mine. *Sigh*. I am just using them for my own purposes. *Laughs evilly*.**

…**Anyway, here is the next chapter. Sorry it took so long…I have a lot of things going on in R.L. I'd like to say that since it took so much time to post, this chapter is the best thing that I've ever written. But, eh, well, you'll see for yourselves. Reviews and ratings are always welcome.**

**Oh, and yeah, there is going to be a pairing between Ellacári and Elrohir, as hinted in my first chapter. I don't really ship Legolas/Aragorn (I'm totally pro-Aragorn/Arwen), so it was going to either be Glorfindel or one of the twins. So Elrohir it was :)**

**But anyway, here's the next chapter (finally).**

Chapter 2 – Flight to the Ford

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"**Since you are here we must risk the peril of the Road and go. There are five behind us, and when they find your trail upon the Road they will ride after us like the wind. And they are not all. Where the other four may be, I do not know. I fear that we may find the Ford is already held against us…"**

**~ Glorfindel, "Flight to the Ford"**

* * *

The stallion I rode on whimpered in fear as we galloped further and further into the forest. Although my brave steed sensed the darkness as well, it did little to comfort me. The mere thought of my friend and four poor, defenseless Halflings out here in these dark woods chilled me to the bone. The Nine Robed Ones would pay for this.

However, I would not get to them before nightfall the next day. My determination aside, there was absolutely nothing I could do to make my poor, completely worn out horse gallop faster. I had not ceased riding at a breakneck pace for nearly 5 hours straight, and while my mind told me to keep going, my heart reached out to this poor creature, probably asking itself why did he have to bear this insane elleth, who was obviously bent on a death-gallop?

I whispered words of comfort. "Nai l'a hauta sinomë, nilmo-nîn. Hannon le." **| You may stop and rest, my friend. Thank you |**

The stallion seemed to grumble in relief as I dismounted, and subsequently released him of his burden. I let him wander freely in the clearing I had brought us to: although I had pushed him to near collapse, my horse understood how important this mission was. The fate of us all may rest upon this one trip. And so he took my impertinence in stride.

And as much as it pained me to admit it, both the horse and I needed much rest. It was nearly dawn by the time I had slowed to a halt, and while I would have preferred to ride by daylight to find my friend, it was obvious that we would need to rest throughout most of the day, until at least the evening.

I quickly made myself comfortable, leaping onto a low branch of a nearby oak tree. I placed my hand on the trunk, taking comfort in the wisdom and trust I found there. The tree slowly awoke under my touch, its leaves whispering in my ear.

_Why do you follow such evil, Child of the Valar? Let the wraiths be…we will protect you from them, if only you should ask._

I chuckled softly. Trees always had wisdom that often proved useful, and should be followed. Much to my father's disdain, trees seemed to have a need to protect me…Elrohir insisted it was because I was a wood-elf, but Ada always swore it was some other trait that I possessed and he, well, didn't. Trees never seemed to listen to him at all; it was actually quite funny.

_I am sorry, nilmo-nîn _**| my friend |**_. I can not abide by your request. Those evil beings pursue my friends, and so, I must follow them._

The leaves and branches of the tree shook, almost replicating what might be considered an exasperated sigh.

_If I can not convince you, no being can. But please: heed my warning. I have seen much evil in these woods, but the Nine Who Ride In Black spread darkness to my brethren's cores, just by a touch…much like how your homeland is slowly being ravaged by the evil, little elleth._

My shoulders tensed automatically at the tree's mention of my forest. Of course the wise being was correct: Mirkwood had been encroached by evil again and again, leaving a dark, dank wood in its place. My homeland was no longer safe; much like every other place on Arda.

Sauron was slowly crumbling Middle-Earth. Draining every single land of it's beauty, and it's strength. There were so few places of pureness in this world; it made me nauseous to think about it. And I had no doubt that my home would fall into shadow very soon.

I had begged my father to let me stay; to allow me to fight for our home against the forces of darkness. But he had refused. My dear Ada had refused with unshed tears in his eyes, telling me, "Ellacári, trust me, there is so much more that you will do there than you can possibly do here."

I was ripped back to the present moment by the tree's fearful whisperings in my ear. _The Half-Men…the ones who travels with your mortal companion, one of them is injured, is he not?_

_Yes! Frodo, is he…is he alive?_

_Do not fear, child. Your Half-Man is alive. Health is a different matter entirely. His spirit is quickly fading into shadow. If you do not get him to the Lord of the Valley quickly, there will be no force on Arda that will be able to save him._

I slowly realized that the oak was right. I needed to ride. Now.

Without another word, I dropped down from the branch, my hand ripping violently away from the tree. This caused my head to spin as the connection my mind had constructed with the being was completely severed.

I stood still for a moment, waiting for the world to stop turning black, and then readying myself again. Only an hour had passed since I had stopped the death-march, and my stallion didn't seem particularly happy when I announced we must continue.

He neighed in protest as I mounted him once again.

As I spoke to the horse softly, I felt a hint of desperation slip into my once steady voice. I needed to find Frodo and Aragorn _very quickly_.

* * *

By the time night had once again fallen, my horse was, once again, exhausted. I was weary as well; the worry and cautiousness had long since seeped into my mind and poisoned it. What if I did not get to my friend in time? What if Frodo died and it was all because of me?

My thoughts were fluttering about in my head, causing my perceptiveness to disappear for a few moments as I prepared to dismount. As soon as my feet touched the ground, however, I heard it. The smallest noise. No, not noise…Ai! Voices!

_Estel!_

I let go of all cautiousness that I possessed, running wildly through the trees to reach Aragorn.

He soon came into my sight, much like the ranger I remembered from two years past. His cloak and tunic was worn with age, his hair loose and wild, giving him a bedraggled and rugged appearance. _Oh, if Arwen could see him now…_

I laughed softly at that absent thought. How strange it was to see him again, I could barely collect my thoughts.

I slid through the trees silently, trying to perceive what he was collecting. _Athelas? But that would mean…_

My stomach dropped. Frodo. His wound was worse. Even from my position in the trees, I could hear the hobbit's moans and gasps of pain clearly: I had no doubt Aragorn could as well.

I strode out of the bushes behind him, drawing my knife and pressing the cold metal at his jugular. His muscles immediately tensed, and the knife he was using to cut the plant froze. I chuckled at his actions.

"And what is this? A ranger caught off his guard?"

At the sound of my voice, Aragorn's muscles relaxed notably. His neck turned backward to look at me, and as his eyes met mine, his thoughts bombarded me with considerable force.

_We must get to Frodo.  
__He has no time.  
__Without a horse, he will not make it to Rivendell before…  
__I must take him.  
__Do not think of arguing with me, Cári!  
__It will not work.  
__Why are you always so stubborn?  
__And if you do not mind my asking…  
_…_How does Arwen fare?__  
_

I chuckled at his last, wayward, and utterly love-struck thought. My friend shook his head, as if to clear his mind of the fantasies he knew I could see.

Aragorn looked around. "Quickly. We must get to him. You might be the only one who can pull him back from the shadow. At least, enough until we get him to Ada."

I nodded at him, my eyes doing the talking. "Rocco-nîn…" **| My horse |** My stallion trotted forward, obediently allowing Aragorn and his torch to join us upon his back.

"Hannon le," **| Thank you |** I whispered to my loyal companion.

We galloped forward a couple of meters before we came to the trail the four Halflings and my friend had been traveling on. I recognized this place: the infamous Trollshaws, where Bilbo Baggins and those infuriating dwarves had turned mountain trolls to stone. The statues still resided there, and would stay there, forever reminding travelers of the courage of Halflings.

But something was definitely different this time. As we broke through the trees, something very peculiar happened: the air seemed to be…_weighed down_ with shadow, and was thus preventing me from moving as fast as I could.

As I dismounted from the horse, it felt as if I were going very slowly; as though the darkness surrounding this hobbit was palpable, slowing my attempts to save him.

The natural light of my soul made itself evident very quickly; piercing the darkness of the forest with my glow. As Frodo looked upon me with fearful blue eyes, I examined the rest of his appearance. It was horrifying, but not unexpected: I had seen Morgul wounds before. His skin was deathly pale, and I could sense the presence of the poison in his veins, flowing through and infecting every inch of his physical and mental state.

The healer in me immediately took action.

I looked into his eyes and gripped upon his soul, leading it away from the black hole of Shadow.

I called upon Elbereth to heal this shattered life. _Héri Elbereth, i' isil ar anar, putt-i perian nwalme. _**| Lady Elbereth, by the moon and sun, stop the hobbit's torment |**

I breathed deeply, before crooning softly to the Halfling.

"Frodo…"

His startled gaze met mine.

"Im Ellacári – telin le thaed." **| I am Ellacári – I have come to help you |**

A calmed look came over his eyes. I had almost led him through the darkness, back to his spirit.

"Lasto beth nîn…tolo dan nan galad…" **| Hear my voice…come back to the light |**

The perian began drawing in rough breathes as the connection with my soul was severed.

I ignored the amazed stares from Frodo's companions, and knelt down next to my friend to examine the wound.

My sensitive hearing picked up awed whispers from the hobbits. _"Who is she…?" "…she's an elf…"_

Aragorn began breaking up the athelas leaves, as I called out "Frodo!" shaking the hobbit gently.

He didn't respond. _This bodes ill._

As Aragorn pulled back the victim's shirt to address the wound with athelas, I whispered. "He is fading."

As the herb touched Frodo's shoulder, he wheezed with pain. "He is not going to last, Estel."

I quickly made up my mind. "We must get him to Lord Elrond." Aragorn's eyes met mine, and he nodded, picking up Frodo as we rose.

"I've been looking for you for two days," I said, ignoring the shouts of protest from the other hobbits.

"Erestor says there are five wraiths behind you; where the other four are, we do not know." Aragorn lifted a gasping Frodo onto my saddle; but when he did not acknowledge my statement, I grabbed him by the shoulder and looked into his eyes.

He responded to me in Elvish. "Dartho guin periannath – rych le ad tolthathon." **| Stay with the hobbits – I will send horses for you |**

"Hon mabathon – rochon ellint im." **| I am the faster rider – I will take him |** I retorted in the same language with a fierce look.

Aragorn still refused to give up. He must know that time is running out for Frodo, mustn't he? Why was he still arguing? "Andelu i ven." **| The road is too dangerous |**

One of the hobbits whispered in an awed voice, "What are they saying?"

I ignored him, continuing my argument with Aragorn. Why has he always insisted…I had fought spiders, orcs, wargs, and every other evil creature on Arda before he was even born! Words of protest came pouring out of my mouth. "Ae athradon i hîr, tûr Imladris beriatha hon."** | If I can get across the river, the power of Rivendell will protect him |**

Aragorn still looked at me pleadingly, but a small whisper from me in the common tongue silenced all reluctance left in his eyes. "I do not fear them."

With an exasperated sigh, and another brief pause, he nodded. "Be iest lîn."** | According to your wish |**

I grinned smugly at my friend: he must have known that this argument with me was hopeless.

I leapt onto the horse behind Frodo, holding him securely in place as he continued his wheezing. Aragorn looked up at me, his silver eyes shining with annoyance and worry. "Ride hard. Don't look back."

I had an overwhelming urge to snort. Who did he think I was? A dwarf? I was not incapable of riding a horse through a forest: I was one of the finest!

After the urge had passed, I found that I pitied my poor steed. Another death-gallop was in his not-so-distant future; and I'm sure he was not rejoicing at the prospect.

I spoke words of encouragement. "Nór-óna, rocco-nîn, nór-óna!" **| Ride hard, my horse, ride hard! |**

And then we were off through the trees, and as we passed into shadow, I looked back (contrary to Aragorn's "advice") and saw him gazing back at me.

As the other hobbits shouted in outrage and fear at my friend, I willed my gaze back to the forest.

_Do not fret, Estel. I will get this hobbit to safety. You could not have left him in better hands…_

* * *

Translations –

_Nai l'a hauta sinomë, nilmo-nîn. Hannon le – You may stop and rest, my friend. Thank you._

_Nilmo-nîn – My friend._

_Rocco-nîn – My horse_

_**Hannon le – Thank you**_

_Héri Elbereth, i' isil ar anar, putt-i perian nwalme. – Lady Elbereth, by the moon and sun, stop the hobbit's torment._

**Im Ellacári – telin le thaed – I am Ellacári – I have come to help you.**

**Lasto beth nîn…tolo dan nan galad – Hear my voice…Come back to the light.**

**Dartho guin perian – rych le ad tolthathon – Stay with the hobbits – I will send horses for you.**

**Hon mabathon – rochon ellint im – I am the faster rider – I will take him.**

**Andelu i ven – The road is too dangerous.**

**Ae athradon i hîr, tûr Imladris beriatha hon – If I can get across the river, the power of Rivendell will protect him.**

**Be iest lîn – According to your wish.**

_Nór-óna, rocco-nîn, nór-óna! – Ride hard, my horse, ride hard!_

* * *

**Word-Count: 2,293**

**Well, that concludes chapter 2. Next time I'll try to update sooner, but again, I have a lot of stuff to do at the home-front. And right now, when I'm finishing typing this, my internet is completely down. So I might need to wait another couple of days before uploading it. *sigh***

**Here's another note. I noticed that in all the Legolas and/or Thranduil fics that I've read, Thranduil is either a) a horrible parent that torments Legolas constantly and never lets him live. Or b) a loving parent with a slight angry and serious side who completely adores Legolas. I've chosen the nice Thranduil for my story (because Thranduil is my bff okay don't judge).**

**Well, now that that's out of my system, on Monday (eh, August 9****th****, 2010), I'm going on vacation for a week. I'll try to get some work in on a notebook I'm bringing (but knowing my very **_**active**_ **family, we'll probably spend a total of about 5 minutes in the hotel room when we're ****not**** sleeping). I'll try to fit some writing in, though.**

**~ CC. **


	3. Crossing the Bruinen

**Sorry it took me so long to post this chapter. In a lot of ways, I've been completely dreading this chapter (a.k.a., I've been procrastinating). But I had a vacation, so I mostly did my writing in the car driving to the hotel.**

**Anyway, the disclaimers are the same (as always)… I do not own any recognizable characters in this story. I merely borrow them (and do with them as I wish, like my tiny little puppets…mwahahaha!)**

***Ahem* Well, here's the next chapter! *grins sheepishly***

Chapter 3 – Crossing the Bruinen

* * *

"**Go back…go back to the Land of Mordor, and follow me no more!"**

**~ Frodo**

"**The Ring! The Ring!"**

**~ Witch-King**

"**By Elbereth and Lúthien the Fair…you shall have neither the Ring nor me!"**

**~ Frodo, "Flight to the Ford"**

* * *

After the wraiths starting chasing us, everything changed.

We traveled all through the rest of the night after leaving Aragorn, and then some. But by the time the Ringwraiths had began chasing us outright, it was already noon of the next day.

As the wraith's pursuit grew in intensity, our pace grew heated and quickened. My new friend seemed to understand that if we stopped now, the result would be a very bad outcome for all of us. I did not know what happened to horses if caught by the Nazgûl; but I am certain that neither of us wanted to find out.

And on top of all of this, Frodo's condition was deteriorating faster than I had expected. Wraiths were beginning to be the least of my problems. His complexion grew paler and paler, so much so that he was starting to resemble a ghost. The wound looked and just felt ill. The simple act of touching his skin made me feel nauseous, something that bothered me severely: if I could sense the shadow that easily, Frodo must be barely alive.

Oh yes. After the wraiths started chasing us, _everything_ changed.

That was when I began to lose hope. When I began to doubt.

Estel had entrusted this hobbit to me. I promised the mortal that I would get him to Rivendell. I had not exactly spoken my oath, but I knew that he understood my intent. I was not going to make it, however. My promise was to be broken. I was beginning to realize that Frodo was not going to survive this journey.

What would I do when the small ring-bearer was dead? Would I continue to ride with his limp and cold body slumped against my chest?

_No Ellacári, do not think about that! _A small voice in the back of my mind kept trying to reassure me: to make me believe that we would make it. That Frodo would not die.

_Oh Elbereth, how could the Valar allow this? How could they allow this poor, defenseless, little perian to suffer and die like this…?_

No! Frodo will _not_ die!

And suddenly, I was so sure. This strong little voice blocked out all the doubts, all the fears. Yes. Yes. Frodo will survive to see another sunrise. He has to.

I quickened our pace.

Frodo had started wheezing loudly once more, as the wraiths drew closer to us. I urged my horse forward as we left open plain and returned to the safety of the forest. I was glad: while out in the brief expanse of plain, I felt exposed. At least the trees would give us some semblance of cover.

A couple of trees we passed who saw (or sensed) our predicament tried to trip the Nines' steeds with their roots and branches. It did slow them a bit, for which I was grateful.

But for now, I had a one-track mind. I couldn't afford to think of anything else now, except my goal.

Get Frodo across the river, and to Lord Elrond.

I was fairly certain that if his condition was to grow worse in the next couple of minutes, I could possibly reverse the effects of the poison; at least a little, until we could arrive in Rivendell. But while the wraiths were chasing us, it would be next to impossible.

And so, I rode.

And everything was fine (well, as fine as anyone could possibly be in our situation). Until, of course, we reached the Bruinen.

About half a league away from the shoreline, the Ringwraiths began catching up to us. My poor steed was obviously on the verge of collapse: and the second we stopped running, the Nine would overrun us. So I did the only thing I could do. I called out to the Valar for help. Clamping my hands on the horse's mane, I whispered. "Rehta! Le ma mauya elessro! Yuht nar-nîn…" **| Help! You must heal him! Use my flame… |**

I immediately felt light-headed, and infinitely more exhausted than I already was, but the important thing was that my horse galloped on with new vigor. His hooves moved unevenly at first (most probably because of the unexpected energy surge), but he caught himself and galloped faster than I would have thought physically possible.

We narrowly avoided the Ringwraiths who attempted to intercept us, and then, sooner than I had expected, our savior was in sight. Seconds later, water was splashing, and effectively ruining, my traveling cloak.

But I didn't care: we had finally reached the river.

My loyal steed trotted quickly through the shallows, panting heavily. The waterfall roared behind us with loud crashes. Some small bit of information Mithrandir **| Gandalf |** had given me about the Nazgûl's steeds made itself evident in my mind: they were petrified of water. Possibly the one weakness they had, besides fire, of course. I was nearly positive they would stop the pursuit at the shoreline.

So foolish of me.

In my defense, the coal black horses did skid to a halt at the edge of the water, but the servants of Sauron would do anything for their master.

One of the wraiths – the Witch-King, I suspected – hissed out to me in a voice which, instead of chilling my heart, infuriated it. "Give us the Halfling, she-elf."

I snarled, my voice steady and brimming with barely concealed rage. "If you want him, come and claim him."

I drew my twin knives fro my belt with one, fluid motion, and the cold silver blades flashed in the sun. I stared at the Witch-King, daring him to move forward.

The faceless demon glared back at me (though I could see no eyes) for a few, strained moments.

And, to my surprise, the impossible happened.

The Witch-King of Angmar – with his fellow wraiths following behind obediently – urged his dark horse forward, and began trotting cautiously in the shallows towards me and, therefore, Frodo.

My mind began working with quick, methodical approaches to our situation.

I could shoot the demons' steeds, causing the wraiths to fall to the rushing water below, while Frodo and I make our escape.

Or I could relinquish my horse to Frodo so he could flee, while I faced the wraiths in close-combat by myself.

And if those didn't sound appealing enough, I had my third option: using magic and praying to the Valar that I would stay conscious.

My mind subconsciously eliminated my second option: although it would give Frodo some more time, I would most definitely fall, and there was no way to be sure that Frodo would survive without me.

The first option had begun to sound appealing. I had no reason to delude myself into believing that it was fool-proof, because it most certainly was not. There were easily dozens of possible results; most of which ended with Frodo or I (or both) dead or seriously injured. And I was not willing to tempt fate.

And so, while it only took me two moments of hesitation to decide my plan of action, I knew immediately that my last, and most desperate choice, was the one that would get us all out alive. Probably.

I looked around at my surroundings, already beginning to mutter the spell under my breath. Focusing my energy on the water and roaring waterfall at my right flank, I said the draining words.

"Nîn o Chithaeglir lasto beth daer; rimmo nîn Bruinen dan in Ulaer! Rimmo nîn Bruinen dan in Ulaer!" **| Waters of the Misty Mountains listen to the great word; flow waters of Loudwater against the Ringwraiths! Flow waters of Loudwater against the Ringwraiths! |**

After my lips had fallen silent, for a moment, my whole body seemed to hum with energy. And light. Oh gods, the light.

It was blinding.

Just one glimpse of Elbereth's power. One passing glance at Valinor. I gasped as the euphoria abruptly faded from my soul, and in one second, I snapped out of the comatose-like state I had fallen into. That was when I noticed the waterfall.

Or, more accurately, the horses.

Blazing white stallions: giant ones, frothing with foam, emerged from the roaring water. They charged viciously: using the rage leaking from me as an advantage. The Ringwraiths had no chance.

My brave horse warriors trampled the black cloaked ones, and as they crashed down on my enemies, they lost their form, and became water once again. This did not muffle the power of the attack, though: if anything, it made it stronger.

There were a few flailing hooves and cloaks, joined with anguished screeches. It was only a matter of time, however, before the Bruinen once again fell silent; the darkness of the Ringwraiths washing away like filth.

I did not have long to pause in my reflection, due to the hideous wheezing coming from Frodo, and the whimpering from my horses as a result.

I gasped, and mentally throttled myself for forgetting about the injured hobbit. No doubt the wraiths' close proximity caused the perian to be in more pain, if that was even possible.

I quickly dismounted the panicking horse, and pulled Frodo down after me. I laid him on the soft, sandy shoreline, only to watch his condition slip away before my very eyes.

"No, no…Frodo, no!" Tears began to form underneath my lashes. "Frodo, don't give in! Not now!" The drops of grief streamed freely down my cheeks now.

I lifted his cold body and clutched him close to my heart.

And a fury rose up inside of me. A strong determination to restore the Halfling.

I reached out with my soul, my heart, out to the Valar. I pleaded with Elbereth.

"What grace is given to me, let it pass to him. Let him be spared. Save him…please…!"

Agonizingly long seconds passed.

And then…a heartbeat. A weak, faint, heartbeat. Then another. Slow, painstakingly soft, but alive. Clinging on to the last thread of life. Frodo!

I moved to lift him off the ground, but my knees wavered in protest. I was still not strong enough. We were only a couple of leagues from Imladris…if my horse, Frodo, and I could wait until then, Frodo could survive.

I used that as motivation, and tried to pick up Frodo again, but my knees still wobbled and my head spun so violently that I worried I would faint.

I slowly lowered to the ground, wishing at that moment I had Galadriel's power of far-speaking: I could simply ask Glorfindel or Ro and Dan to come aid me.

But alas, I was not bestowed with her gift, and so all I could do was hold my breath, close my eyes, and lift Frodo once again.

My knees buckled again, but I somehow managed to continue standing.

Frodo's ill breathing startled me out of the stance I had taken, reminding me once again why it was necessary to finish this journey. Why I must go on.

I lifted Frodo above my chest on to the horse.

I wearily climbed on behind him, my head throbbing dully and my limbs aching. I had practiced too much magic: I was no istar **| wizard |**. Elbereth's power or not, I was susceptible, if not more, to the painful exhaustion after powerful magic.

In situations such as this, I wish I had listened to my father for once. That seemed to be a common occurrence for me lately. Wishing, that is.

"Nór-óna…nór-óna…" **| Ride hard…ride hard… |** I whispered softly to my horse.

The stallion shot into the woods with the speed of an arrow; which was horribly too fast for my head and stomach.

I groaned in nausea, but did not slow him. Too much was at stake.

* * *

By the time we reached Imladris, I was ready to collapse of exhaustion, as was my horse. When the gates were in sight, I called out weakly to the guards, who were watching me warily. They obviously did not attack because they recognized me as an elf.

"Mae govannen," **| Well met |** I managed to stutter out. My vision was turning dark. But I couldn't black out now! They needed to know…

"Hir Elrond…saes…Frodo…boe de nestad…" **| Lord Elrond…please…Frodo…he needs healing… |** My head suddenly felt like such a weight. I felt myself falling, and then everything went black, and I saw no more as I sank into oblivion…

* * *

Translations –

_Rehta! Le ma mauya elessro! Yuht nar-nîn… - Help! You must heal him! Use my flame…_

Mithrandir – Gandalf (Sindarin name for "The Grey Pilgrim")

**Nîn o Chithaeglir lasto beth daer; rimmo nîn Bruinen dan in Ulaer! Rimmo nîn Bruinen dan in Ulaer! – Waters of the Misty Mountains listen to the great word; flow waters of Loudwater against the Ringwraiths! Flow waters of Loudwater against the Ring wraiths!**

**Ithron – Wizard (singular)**

_Nór-óna…nór-óna… – Ride hard…ride hard…_

_Aiya – Hail (a call for attention/help)_

_Heru Elrond…saes…Frodo…nás harna… – Lord Elrond…please…Frodo…he is hurt…  
_

* * *

**Word-Count: 2,065**

**Btw, don't ask why the Bruinen spell isn't in Quenya. The only translation I could accurately do was the one from the movie – which is in Sindarin, and I wasn't going to bust my ass trying to do an inaccurate Quenyan translation. Sorry ^^;**

**But anyway, chapter 3 is done. I really am sorry it took so long to post. I've been procrastinating (I seem to do that a lot), and because of it, this really isn't my favorite chapter. I tried to be vague about what happened after Frodo blacked out at the shoreline ('cause in the movie, he just mysteriously wakes up in Rivendell), because there's no mention as to what Arwen did to get him there. So, I just kinda filled in the blanks.**

**I've already started on the next chapter, so it shouldn't be as long a wait! (I hope…)**

~ **CC. **


	4. Another Day in the Healing Ward

**So everybody, here's the next chapter. It's going to be kind of short, because I want the Council of Elrond to be a separate chapter.**

**Once again, no recognizable characters belong to me, but to their respectable creators. *Bows in honor to J.R.R. Tolkien & Peter Jackson***

Chapter 4 – Another Day in the Healing Ward

* * *

"**I am getting very old, and I began to wonder if I should ever live to see your chapters of our story. Good night! I'll take a walk, I think, and look at the stars of Elbereth in the garden. Sleep well!"**

**~ Bilbo, "Many Meetings"**

* * *

When I emerged from the blackness that had consumed me, I awoke to the sounds of deep yet steady breathing. Someone was sleeping alongside my bed.

My eyelids fluttered open of their own accord, and I was immediately thankful that it was dark in the room; sunlight would have burned my eyes shut.

As I grew used to my surroundings, my senses began to activate again. Where was I? White walls, plain white sheets, windows on three of the four walls…ah, the Healing Wing in Imladris. Elrond's personal one (reserved for family, friends, some chief advisors, and Elrond himself). The mere realization that I could recognize this place within seconds of awakening unnerved me: I spend my time here much too often.

I felt much more rested than I had the last time I was conscious, however, so the Healer must have…

Wait, Frodo! Where—

The painful and soul-wrenching memories came flooding back in a rush: the Ringwraiths, the Bruinen, Frodo, Estel…

Oh Elbereth, how long have I been unconscious?

"It has been three days since your return to Imladris, Ellacári, and you had better be thankful that I didn't knock you out for another few days with a particularly powerful sleeping draught."

I looked up in surprise. Had I actually said that aloud? Interesting…but what was this? An estranged healer who needed to be put in her place by the princess of Mirkwood…hmm…

"Hûredhiel! Why are…?!"

"No, don't you even consider the motion of moving off of this bed, you stubborn elleth! I am going to fetch Elrond, and if you are not here when I return…" The healer let the threat hang in the air as she left the room. She's calling _me_ stubborn? The pot calling the kettle black seems about right in the situation.

I was not completely alone when she left in a huff, however. There was still the mortal man who slept in this same room in that same chair so often that I had suggested we move in a second bed.

Estel, my loyal friend.

Many a night has he stayed in my room, awaiting my return to the waking world patiently. No matter how small the injury. He should not have to do this.

I was going to have a talk with him…

…And it seemed as if that talk was going to occur soon, because my stirring and Hûredhiel's argument had awoken my friend.

He jumped up clumsily in surprise, blinking comically, attempting to see in the dark.

"Ellacári, you're awake! Na vedui! **| At last! | **I will go fetch Mistress Hûredhiel."

"There is no need, Estel. She has already gone to find Elrond."

He rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. "How long have you been awake?"

"Only a few minutes. Really Estel, you should have slept in your own room…"

He nodded, completely ignoring my latter admonishment. "Good, good. Gandalf was beginning to worry that you'd never wake up. The force of the spell you used must have been colossal."

My eyebrows raised in surprise. "Mithrandir is here?"

Aragorn nodded. "Ai, as are nobles of other races: men, hobbits, dwarves…" I flinched. Dwarves, in any Elvish settlement, Imladris especially, was a horror to civilization.

"A council has been scheduled, mellon-nîn **| my friend |**. In two days time, the fate of the Ring will be discussed." A dark look crossed my dear friend's face, as he sat back down in the chair. I wondered if the Ring of Sauron had been calling to the Heir of Isildur. I was confident, however, that Aragorn would not listen.

Then, another irrational fear gripped my heart. "You don't think Hûredhiel would dare keep me from this council?" I paused. "Would she?"

"Oh, I doubt it." A voice said. "And if she did attempt this dastardly crime, I am sure you would find a way around it."

I smiled in recognition. "Hello, Lord Elrond. How is Frodo? Have you…"

"Frodo is well and resting, Lassë** | Leaf |**. Mithrandir is with him now." He sat down at the edge of my bed. "You gave me quite a scare there, Ellacári. Your feä **| soul |** was so drained of life, we feared you would fade away."

"We?"

"Ai." Another familiar voice agreed. "My twin was frantic, Cári. He stayed with you nearly as long as Estel here."

Elladan and Elrohir moved from the doorway into the moonlight streaming in from the balcony; Dan grinning wickedly and Elrohir blushing lightly.

Elrohir…was _frantic_…over _me_? _Why am I so pleased by that?_

I felt my face redden. "Hannon le, Elrohir." I said softly with a smile.

He moved slowly, cautiously, towards me, and, with everyone watching, pressed a light kiss to my forehead. "I am very glad that you are safe, Ellacári," he murmured, my name rolling beautifully off of his tongue.

There was nothing intimate about the gesture. In fact, dozens of people I know and love have done the same action many times, and it usually fills me with hope.

And yet when _Elrohir_ did this my heart beat faster, and blood pounded through my ears.

Valar, I was hopeless.

This was what love felt like, wasn't it? It was very much like the feelings Arwen had described to me (all with a dreamy and faraway look on her face).

But when his cool, chaste lips left my skin, it felt like all the warmth had drained from my body. Why couldn't I just curl up in his arms and stay there for all eternity? I would be perfectly content with that prospect.

But of course, the fates were not with me, and Elrohir had to move away from me all too soon.

Elrond coughed slightly, obviously embarrassed at being a witness to this small, but intimate, moment between his son, and his best friend's daughter. I blushed, returning to my thoughts and remembering that Lord Elrond, Dan, Mistress Hûredhiel, _and_ Estel were still in the room.

Privacy was definitely dead.

"Ellacári, would you permit me to examine your person?" Elrond asked with an affectionate smile. I nodded my consent, pulling off my shirt with no question. All the men (and one woman) in the room had more or less seen my body: again, there was no room for privacy or shame in a war against darkness. And so, while I gained many good friends and brothers, frankly, I lost all semblance of my dignity.

He poked, and probed, but nothing ached or pained me. All I required, apparently, was a very long slumber. A short while later, my examination concluded, and I was free to leave.

I slipped on my robes, thanked Elrond for his help, and left the room, turning right while the rest of my companions chose left. And so, I was left alone to stroll through the gardens.

* * *

There is no word in any tongue to describe the beauty of the Hidden Valley at midnight. The closest vignette I know of which does the sight any justice at all is a Sindarin word: _imlad-elen_. Roughly, in the Common Speech, it translates as "Valley of Stars".

It seemed as if the Valar had laid this path themselves.

It was oddly comforting, knowing that somewhere on Arda there remained one place of splendor and beauty. I doubted Mirkwood would ever return to its former glory, and there was solace in knowing that Imladris will endure until the very end, whatever the outcome.

As long as a member of the House of Elrond remained here on Middle-Earth, I was confident Rivendell would not fall into shadow. And I knew for certain that Arwen was not sailing (her bonds to Aragorn already so strong it would be unbearable in Valinor without him – although Estel continued to deny this).

As I pondered these things, a wayward and heated thought came to me. A deep sinister voice in the back of my head. _What if you are defeated?_ I immediately stopped walking. What was this? Surely my mind could not conceive of such negative thoughts…could it?

_Sauron will win and you know it, Ellacári. You are only prolonging your demise._ The voice had a twinge deep darkness in it. I could feel the hatred pulsing through me.

Doubt. The Ring of Power, trying to enter my mind, was taking the form of doubt, ever gnawing at my worst fears.

_You will not be excluded from this fate; nor will the ones you claim to love and protect._ The voice sneered. _You will die slowly and painfully, she-elf. Your forbearers will not be able to save you._

This time, I responded. _Do not whisper false threats to me, Enthraller. Be gone from my mind!_

And just like that, I was left alone in my thoughts.

This encounter with the Ring unnerved me. Sauron had enabled the source of his power to have a will of its own, allowing any soul susceptible to its corruption.

If the Ring of Power was attempting to corrupt an elf's mind, he would obviously try to deceive others: men, dwarves…but not Halflings. I had learned long ago, beginning with my Adar's incident with Master Baggins that periannath **| hobbits |** should never be underestimated. Their strength is as stout as their hearts, and they often surprise you in unexpected ways.

Frodo had already been in the possession of the Ring far longer than any man besides Isildur himself, and appeared to be much stronger than the creature Gollum.

It had been Mithrandir who had informed me of Gollum's origin, many centuries ago: that he had once been a hobbit, not unlike Frodo and his loyal companions. I wished those poor Halflings would leave the troubles of war behind. Return to their peaceful little alcoves of Middle-Earth, never endangered again.

But it was not to be.

For I had a very strong premonition that these Halflings would shape the course of the world. Oh yes…all of our fortunes will be forged by these hobbits.

* * *

Translations –

**Na vedui! – At last!**

**Mellon-nîn – My friend**

_Lassë_ – _Leaf (nickname for Ellacári)_

_Feä – Soul_

**Imlad-elen – Valley of Stars  
**

**Periannath – Hobbits**

* * *

**Word-Count: 1,657**

**Ok, there isn't much left to say about this chapter. The next one is the Council of Elrond (Yay)!**

**~CC. **


	5. The Council of Elrond

**Hey! It looks like I'm getting better at the "updating sooner" thing that I've promised to do! Actually I did a lot of writing on a mini-vacation I recently had (I was dropping my cousin off at college for her freshman year…lots of tears!). This was probably the chapter I most looked forward to when I started this story. The next one is going to be worst though, because there isn't a lot of Legolas in the movie right after the Council (until they leave Rivendell, of course).**

**Oh, and incase nobody has realized it yet (or it just hasn't come up), I am basing this story on the extended version of the movies. Those are the only copies of the movies that I have (I don't have the actual footage that was released in theaters), so I just have to work with that. But I'm also using this website that has a script for the movie. I haven't checked to see if the script is the extended edition ('cause I can't remember every part of the extended edition), but I am trusting the script. So forgive me if some of the parts are from the extended edition, and some of them aren't. **

**Again, no recognizable characters belong to me. They all belong to their respective owners, to which I bow in respect to.**

**Anyway, I'll stop babbling now and start the newest chapter. Here it is, guys!**

Chapter 5 – The Council of Elrond

* * *

**There was also a strange Elf clad in green and brown, Legolas, a messenger from his father, Thranduil, the King of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood…**

**~ "The Council of Elrond"**

* * *

"Thank you, Cári. For saving Frodo, even when it was a danger to your own life."

"Hello, Estel." I said without turning around. Even without my Elvish senses, I would have known it was him before he even opened his mouth to speak. "And it was nothing. I knew I would survive."

I turned to face him. "I have people I love to come back to."

We embraced, Aragorn chuckling contently as I gently rocked back and forth while in his arms: both of us extremely reluctant to release the other. "The Council is starting, mellon-nîn. We should go."

I sighed in irritation and disbelief. "But I just came by you alone!" Aragorn had been terribly busy since I had awoken two days ago with preparations for the Council. I, as well, had been occupied most of the time, and my best friend and I had not been able to spend a moment along together.

And now, we would be surrounded with men, dwarves, wizards (well, one wizard: Curunîr's **| Saruman's |** betrayal resulted in Mithrandir being the only istarat our Council). It had been ages since Estel and I had seen each other! Would I ever have my friend to myself?

Aragorn, basically reading my thoughts, practically dragged me out the door of my room and through the halls. "Do not fret, mellon-nîn. We will speak after the Council. I swear it."

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. "Estel…"

"Have I ever steered you wrong, Cári?"

My eyebrows rose. "Shall I answer that question honestly, or simply glare?"

Estel rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but then laughed deviously. "Come now, my friend. I believe you have some dwarves to meet!" He finished with an evil grin.

I groaned in horror. Anything but that!

* * *

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old; you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor." Lord Elrond spoke ominously and with authority. He seemed to meet every person's gaze all at once. It was a technique used on the twins and I many times, but was no less intimidating because of my former experiences with it.

"Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction, none can escape it." I met Estel's eyes. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

"We will unite, or we will fall…Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom."

The Lord of Imladris turned to his left. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo." He said, gesturing with his hand to the dais in the middle of the clearing.

The hobbit met no one's eyes, not even Mithrandir's, as he moved to the center, hesitated for a split second, and placed the One Ring on the stone.

A man, the son of the Steward of Gondor, murmured to himself. "So it is true." Aragorn was watching him out of the corner of his eye, and I tensed. If Estel was cautious of this man, then so was I.

Mithrandir nodded his approval to Frodo as the relieved hobbit sat back down. The rest of the Council, however, stared at the Ring in awe. I could hear the dark murmurings from the night I had awoken in my ears once again, but I ignored them, instead focusing on the man of Gondor.

Said man stood and began to speak. "In a dream…I saw the Eastern sky grow dark. But in the West, a pale light lingered, and voices cried out: 'Your doom is near at hand'."

The man was moving dangerously close to the Ring. I grew tense in my seat, as did the twins, Estel, Glorfindel, and Frodo. I shook my boot slightly, reassured by the fact that my dagger was resting against my leg.

"'Isildur's bane is found'." Elrond met Mithrandir's gaze meaningfully. "Isildur's bane…" The man reached out for the Ring, and Elrond and I both jumped from our seats. "Boromir!" the Lord cried.

"Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul…" I collapsed in my seat, my face twisted in pain, everything else forgotten from my mind other than the words Mithrandir was uttering.

"…ash nazg thrakatulûk, ash burzum-ishi krimpatul."

The pain, it was paralyzing. I couldn't breathe, at all! My head split open, throbbing sharply and painfully. I was beginning to see spots.

My breath hitched as I shuddered, trying to clear my mind, focus on something, anything, to just_ make the pain stop_.

Suddenly, the clearing fell silent, and the shadow lifted from Rivendell. Elrond's furious voice startled me out of my reverie. "Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris!"

I opened my eyes cautiously. Mithrandir was standing near the Ring, but the man of Gondor, Boromir, had seated himself in fear. Lord Elrond was also clutching his head in pain, as were Ro and Dan. Arwen, who sat on the other side of Elladan, was shuddering violently as I had been, and Estel was watching both of us with worry, fearing that we would double over.

"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West!" Mithrandir proclaimed angrily. "The Ring is altogether evil!"

I sighed in relief. Hopefully this argument was done with.

But that stubborn man would not relent.

"Nay, it is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor!" Boromir stood, before continuing on his feverish and desperate rant. "Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

"You cannot wield it!" Estel reasoned from his seat. "None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master." I relaxed. Surely this stubborn fool would listen to Aragorn, would he not?

"And what would a _ranger_ know of this matter?" the man sneered.

_How dare you, Gondorian? _I inwardly hissed at the man. _Know your place!_

I immediately stood up to defend my friend, without even thinking my words through. "This is no mere ranger! He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

Boromir looked at my best friend incredulously, before looking at me with a sidelong glance. I could see his mind: he was asking himself. _Who does this she-elf think she is? Worthy enough to question a male…? The son of a Steward no less! _That biased pig! "Aragorn? _This_…is Isildur's heir?"

I barely restrained myself from snarling. "An heir to the throne of Gondor!" _And your king! _I wanted to add, but somehow contained my rage.

Estel looked at me with pleading eyes. "Havo dad **| Sit down |**, Ellacári." I glared at the both of them, one with anger, the other with affectionate annoyance. Estel continued looking at me, but I sighed in compliance, and said quietly in response, "Be iest lîn," **| According to your wish |** before once again taking my seat. Boromir looked at the both of us in confusion, before saying to me. "Gondor has no king, she-elf. Gondor needs none." He took his seat.

Oh, how he angered me so! I was bristling with rage because of only a few of his careless comments.

Mithrandir, noticing my fury, quickly intervened. "Aragorn is right. We cannot use it."

I nodded in agreement, as did the other Firstborn and most of the naugrim **| dwarves |**.

"We have only one choice." Lord Elrond said with a finality that allowed no question. "The Ring must be destroyed."

"Then what are we waiting for?" A rough voice growled to my left. It was a dwarf, one that resembled Glóin: a nogoth **| dwarf |** who had been travelling with Master Bilbo Baggins nearly a century ago. Then again, all dwarves were the same vile and rash creatures.

As if to prove this point, the nogoth grabbed his weapon and struck the One Ring with full force. He was thrown backwards, repelled by the unseen force protecting Sauron's power.

The dwarf looked up in awe at his now shattered axe, as Frodo clutched his head in pain. _This bodes ill. If Frodo's bonds with the Ring are already that strong…he will not emerge from this affair unscathed. At least not mentally._

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin—" Ah, so he was Glóin's son "—by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." Elrond met the eyes of every person in the clearing. "One of you must do this."

There were a few seconds of strained silence.

Then, Boromir spoke. "One does not simply _walk_ into Mordor. It's black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland. Riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!"

After that angry and hopeless speech, I could not contain myself any longer. Fury overcame me.

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!"

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?" The infernal son of Glóin, Gimli, shot back at me. Were they all blind? Or was the Ring enthralling their minds?

"And if we fail, what then?!" Boromir shouted at me. I could see contempt and animosity in his eyes. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?!"

"I will be _dead_ before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!" Gimli shouted at me. That's when the Council erupted. Glorfindel, Erestor, and some other Elven lords leapt at Gimli, shouting curses in a mix of Common Speech and Sindarin.

I desperately attempted to hold them back. But Gimli only fueled the already raging fire, by shouting out, "Never trust an elf!" What was that fool thinking? Did he _want_ to be shot?

I couldn't see Estel or the twins in the arguments, nor Lord Elrond. I could definitely _hear_ Mithrandir arguing with Boromir. "…don't you see?! You'll all be destroyed…"

They argued on, the intensity growing and growing to a climax. Somehow, I could not help but argue. It was as if another force was controlling me completely; which, in retrospect, was probably the truth.

Suddenly, a small, yet determined voice broke through the pandemonium. "I will take it." No one ceased arguing. _A little louder, Frodo…_ I urged the perian. "I will take it!" He shouted this time, and the Councilmen and women heard his unwavering declaration.

"_I_ will take the Ring to Mordor." He said to the astonished and awestruck Council. Mithrandir had shut his eyes with a small, sad smile. Obviously he had wished as I had, for Frodo to go back to the Shire.

But destiny had other plans for Frodo Baggins.

"Though, I do not know the way." Frodo said softly, his previous determination lessening slightly.

Mithrandir sighed, but moved over to the courageous little perian, and patted him on the shoulder. "I will help you bare this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear."

Of course, Frodo could not go through Mordor with only the istar as protection. He needed more guardians, if he had any chance of survival or success. But why did my best friend, the only one who is closer to me than a brother, have to realize this?

"If by my life or death I can protect you, I will. You have my sword." Estel pledged, kneeling in front of the Halfling. _Estel!_ I mentally shouted. _Lá!_ **| No! |** He flinched, my loud mental screeching hurting his mind, which just showed how connected we were. I couldn't just let my best friend travel into Mordor without me! Damn the gender biases of this gathering: I was _going_ on this journey.

I stepped forward, towards the hobbit. "And you have my bow." A couple of outraged and hateful murmurs came from the rest of the Council: because of my race (dwarves) and my gender (everyone else).

But to my surprise, I wasn't fazed by their prejudice. All I could see was Arwen's encouraging nods; Elrond's approving smile; Elrohir's smoldering but worried gaze; Frodo's appreciative and relieved eyes; and Estel's wide grin. I moved next to my friend, and everything was perfect in that one moment, until another voice spoke.

"And my axe." Oh no. Not the son of Glóin! Anybody but him! The dwarf stomped over to my left side, and shot me a smug sneer as I glared at him. _Dammit, Estel!_ I growled in my friend's mind. His grin widened.

And then, to make it even _worse_, the son of Gondor, the infernal man, Boromir, stood up with unwavering boldness. "You carry the fate of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done."

_If nothing else, the man and dwarf will provide protection to Frodo, if they are as good warriors as they claim to be._ I tried to reason with myself. _I don't have to like them. All I have to do is fight with them to defend Frodo. That I can tolerate._

"Hey!" a small voice cried. There was a flash of sand colored hair, and suddenly Samwise Gamgee, one of Frodo's loyal companions, was standing at my right. "Mister Frodo isn't goin' anywhere without me!"

He must have been hiding in the bushes during the Council. I was thinking of reprimanding him, but then I realized that if Aragorn had been in Frodo's position, and I in Sam's, I would have done the same.

"No indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not." Lord Elrond told the resolved, yet sheepish, hobbit with an amused smile.

"Wait!" Two more voices cried. Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took. _Does _everyone _know of this supposedly secret council?!_ "We're coming too!" They cried at Lord Elrond's flabbergasted gaze.

The one on the right, Merry, I believe, stood resolutely. "You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!"

The other, Pippin, nodded in agreement. "Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest…thing."

Merry looked at his friend in mock surprise. "Well, that rules you out, Pip." I barely resisted the urge to snort. Estel had no more luck than I. They reminded me so much of Aragorn and myself. The fond memories filled my mind, and I smiled, wishing that those innocent days would come back.

"Nine companions…So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!" Lord Elrond proclaimed regally. The Fellowship of the Ring…a fitting title. I opened my mouth, intending to thank Lord Elrond in Elvish, but Pippin beat me to it.

"Great!" He said enthusiastically. Then, with less vigor, "…Where are we going?"

Oh yes, this journey was going to be _very_ interesting.

* * *

Translations –

**Curunîr – Saruman**

(Mordor/Dark Language) Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul; ash nazg thrakatulûk, burzum-ishi krimpatul. – One Ring to rule them all, one ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them.

**Havo dad, Ellacári. – Sit down, Ellacári.**

**Be iest lîn. – According to your wish.**

**Naugrim – Dwarves (plural)**

**Nogoth – Dwarf (singular)**

_Lá_ – _No!_

* * *

**Word-Count: 2,543**

**Okay, so that concludes the fifth chapter! The next one I'm really dreading (I don't know why), but once I get to Caradhras and the Mines of Moria, it'll be better (at least, I hope so…) So just bear with me if it takes a little longer to update the next one! Thanks.**

**~CC. **


	6. Departure

**Hello again! Before I begin, I must say that when I started this chapter, I was completely out of ideas. I had no clue what to say, what to do, how to begin, at all. It was a heartbreaking case of writer's block. Hopefully my solution will be acceptable however short it is).**

**Oh, and a small note; school is starting for me soon, and that's going to be really hectic (as the first day of school usually is). So I might not update that often. I'll still post the chapters (hell, I won't give up on this story), but it might not be as soon as you would like it to be.**

**How many people actually read A/N's, I wonder.**

**No recognizable characters are mine, of course (though I wish they were!)**

**Here's the next chapter!**

Chapter 6 – Departure

* * *

"**The Company of the Ring shall be Nine; and the Nine Walkers shall be set against the Nine Riders that are evil. With you and your faithful servant, Gandalf will go…for the rest, they shall represent the Free Peoples of the World: Elves, Dwarves, and Men. Legolas shall be for the Elves; and Gimli son of Glóin for the Dwarves…For men you shall have Aragorn, son of Arathorn, for the Ring of Isildur concerns him closely."**

**~ Elrond, "The Ring Goes South"**

* * *

_Your doom is near at hand…Isildur's bane is found…Isildur's bane…the downfall of man…_

"_No! No, Valar, please!" "Ellacári…" Grey, fluttering robes…a shining staff…the dulled glitter of a familiar sword in the dark. And then, a large, flaming hand reached down from the heavens and engulfed all my sight…the tortured screams of periannath followed his demise. "Elbereth!" I cursed. "What—"_

_An angel in white flowing cloth appeared to me. "Do not take thy Gods' name as profanity! You have abandoned your destiny, your Chosen Fate! It is their punishment. As it is yours." I shook my head at the Maia. "No! It cannot be…please, leave them! They are not to blame! Aragorn…Aragorn is meant to—" There was a wicked laugh from the creature. "The Heir of Isildur?!"_

_The woman morphed into a hideous creature, with eyes as red as blood. There was a dreadful cackle. "Farewell, she-elf…your Falling is at hand…"_

"NO!" I screamed, jolting awake. Fear and horror flooded my system immediately, pumping through my veins like adrenaline.

_It is only a dream, Ellacári. Only a dream._ I exhaled in relief. These were the times where I wished elves could not dream at all. No dreams meant no nightmares.

_No nightmares about my friends' deaths._ I thought to myself morosely. _Not that it won't be a reality…for all of them. Someday, at least._ One day, my mortal friends would all die: and this included Aragorn (and within the promise of his passing lay my greatest fear). Whether it be by illness, time, or at the hands of our enemies, I would lose Estel forever.

The simple thought of this made my heart physically ache.

When I first met Aragorn, when he was just a babe, my father warned me that if I was to be friends with this man, I would be condemning myself to a life of heartbreak. I had befriended mortals before, but I suppose my father understood more than I had that Aragorn was different, to say the least.

I had been able to survive the deaths of other friends gone by. It was debatable whether I would be able to do the same when Estel passed on in a century or two.

_And yet, I do not regret any moment of my time with Aragorn. I never have. And I never will._

Suddenly, the door next to my bed crashed open, and there was a flash of black silk. I quickly rolled from the bed, grabbing my quiver and bow on the way down.

I loaded my bow and jumped up, aiming the deadly arrow at the intruder.

And I found myself, face to face, with Elrohir's gleaming silver knife.

We stared at each other for a second, before Ro let out a relieved sigh. He lowered his weapon, and I disengaged mine.

"I thought you were being throttled by orcs! Valar, Ellacári, why were you screaming?"

I put my weapon next to the bed, where it always rested. "It was just a nightmare."

"Oh." He looked extremely relieved. I blushed, and sat down on the bed.

"What were you dreaming about?"

I swallowed. "I am not really sure…but I believe it was about Estel."

As my hand rose to rub my forehead, I realized my hair was not a pretty sight. The long, golden strands had been tangled horribly, due to my thrashing during the nightmare. _Oh just my luck. Can I not ever win with him?!_

My grimace must have triggered a reaction from the son of Elrond, for he moved closer to me and put his arm around my shoulders, then moved us so we were leaning against the headboard.

I rested against him comfortably, and he placed his chin atop my head gently. Neither of us slept that night, but we didn't speak either. All we did was stay there, silent, until dawn. Taking comfort in each other's presence.

And for one of the last nights of my life before the war began in earnest? It was more than enough.

* * *

"The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom." Lord Elrond said to the each of us. Our Fellowship had gathered our supplies to the glade near the eastern gate of Imladris, and now, ready to depart, were awaiting Lord Elrond's dismissal.

"On you who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will." I prayed it would not come to that.

Elrond bowed his head ever so slightly. "Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves…" my lord glanced at me "…Men…" Estel met his Adar's gaze, "…and all free folk go with you."

Elrond spread his arms in blessing, while Aragorn and I bowed our heads in respect, placing our hands over our hearts.

Meanwhile, I met Elrohir's piercing and worried gaze. I nodded slightly to him, and he did the same to me.

I hoped that I would survive this journey long enough for me to see him again.

Before I could contemplate further, Arwen's mental voice pierced my mind as I turned around to face Frodo. _Please, mellon-nîn. Keep him safe. Bring him back alive._

I nodded without hesitation. _I will not let Aragorn fall, Arwen. I swear it. Not while I still draw breath._

I was snapped out of my oath by Mithrandir's proclamation. "The Fellowship awaits the Ring-bearer."

Frodo took a deep, unsteady breath, before walking past the gate, slowly and cautiously.

Only the elves heard him whisper to Mithrandir. "Mordor, Gandalf? Is it left or right?"

And the istar replied correctly. "Left."

Before we were completely out of sight of Imladris, I saw Aragorn and Arwen share one last parting glance.

_Do not fret, Arwen._ I thought to myself. _I will bring him back alive. I promise._

* * *

Translations –

~ None ~

* * *

**Word-Count: 968**

**See, I told you this chapter was going to be really short! Anyway, today I have a dentist's appointment (ugh), so it'll be a really long wait in the waiting room. That means I can work on the next chapter a lot (yay). A Win-Lose situation.**

**I really do appreciate all the reviews I'm getting! As a wise fanfiction-writer once said, "Reviews are air. You need them to breath." Alright, maybe not the best metaphor, but hey, what can you do?**

**~CC. **


	7. The Mountain Pass

**Hi everyone! Here is the seventh chapter, which is entitled The Mountain Pass (I'm sure you know what it'll be about). I'm trying to post all the chapters that I can before school starts (ugh), because for the first few days/weeks, it's gonna be kinda hard to write and/or post. So again, if you could just bare with me…**

**Chapter 7 begins now!**

Chapter 7 – The Mountain Pass

* * *

"**From signs that we have seen lately, I fear that the Redhorn Gate may be watched; and also I have doubts of the weather that is coming up behind. Snow may come. We must go with all the speed that we can. Even so it will take us more than two marches before we reach the top of the pass. Dark will come early this evening."**

**~ Gandalf, "The Ring Goes South"**

* * *

"When _are_ we going to rest again?" Pippin groaned within a week of marching. We had already stopped many, _many_ times before; however, the hobbits seemed to believe we had all the time in Arda, and could therefore stop whenever they were tired.

The complaining had been amusing at first. After a full straight week of it? Not so much.

Mithrandir exhaled loudly, throwing back over his shoulder. "Leave it to a Took to continue to ask such imbecilic questions!"

Merry and Gimli snickered at Pippin's outraged (yet exhausted) expression. I rolled my eyes, quickening my pace so I could speak to Mithrandir.

Estel was on the other side of the wizard, and I spoke to the both of them. "Mithrandir, what is our direction?"

As we made our way through the clearing, my mentor replied to me. "We must hold this course west of the Misty Mountains for forty days. If our luck holds, the Gap of Rohan will still be open to us. From there, our road turns east, to Mordor."

* * *

"Two, one, five…good, very good!" Boromir coached on both Meriadoc and Perregrin.

We had reluctantly allowed a small rest to set up camp on the outstretched arm of the mountain pass, and the man of Gondor was teaching the hobbits the art of swordplay.

I sat down next to Estel, and he automatically put his arm around my shoulders, playing with a strand of my hair while smoking his accursed pipe. "Move your feet!" My friend shouted at the hobbits.

The dwarf looked with undisguised curiosity and a bit of disgust at Aragorn's arm around my shoulders. I glared at him, the hatred crackling between us like lightning. _Men don't understand love._ I thought to myself as I reluctantly rose from my seat, while Aragorn looked at me with a confused glance. _They can make sense of lust, and yet true affection confounds them._ I looked into my friend's eyes with sad smile, leaning closer to his head and pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head, conveying my message to him. _They do not understand._

Boromir continued coaching the Halflings on, as I leapt gracefully onto a boulder next to Mithrandir.

Gimli approached the istar, but I didn't move. "If anyone was to ask for my opinion, which I note they're _not_—" I snorted "—I'd say we were taking the _long_ way around. Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome."

I paled, but did not allow the dwarf to see my fear. Moria was a series of horrible caverns, deep within the earth where the dwarves mined too deeply and too greedily. Aragorn and Mithrandir had traveled through them I knew. But while I remembered millennia back when the Misty Mountains were still only hills, I had avoided the place like the plague all my life.

Estel's nightmares about the accursed place justified my decision.

Fortunately, the wizard came to my rescue. "No, Gimli, I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice." Thank the Valar. If only…

Something to the South caught my eye. A black mass in the sky. I moved to a rock to my left, before extending my sight, and struggling to see clearer. But that was the problem: something, or some_one_, was blocking my sight. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion.

Estel must have seen my body tense, for he traced my line of sight, before standing to break up Merry, Pippin, and Boromir, who had rolled to the floor in a heap.

"For the Shire!" "Hold him down, Merry!"

I was barely aware of Aragorn walking over to the wrestling trio, crossing his arms in a very Erestor-like way. "Gentlemen, that's enough."

I couldn't see very well behind me, as I was still watching the assemblage to the South, but I could've sworn there was a loud thump and clamor, and then the hobbits were laughing, shouting the sounds of a mock battle.

I turned my attention back to the obstruction. I tried to see clearer, make the image of the black cloud more pronounced. But my sight was still blurry. Sam noticed my struggle, and asked me, "What is that?"

I didn't answer; in fact, I couldn't, for Gimli interrupted my reply. "Nothing, it's just a whiff of cloud."

The image was becoming more apparent, but I still could not make it out.

Boromir came up behind me with a suspicious look on his face. At least he was wary of this mystery cloud. "It's moving fast…and against the wind."

Just then, it all became clear. The spell was broken, and I could suddenly see the snaps of their gleaming beaks; could hear the lies Curunîr **| Saruman |** was whispering in their ears.

"Crebain from Dunland!" I shouted, launching myself from the rock before my words even dawned on my companions.

Estel gathered his wits the fastest. "Hide!" Boromir grabbed some bags. "Hurry!"

"Frodo!" My friend yelled as Gimli, Mithrandir, and I gathered our things. "Hurry! Take cover!" I saw Sam pour water over the fire, leaving only ashes, and I grabbed his arm as I dived beneath a bramble. All in all, it took just about ten seconds for us to conceal our camp.

Tense, agonizingly long moments passed, before the black crows were upon us.

The dark demons cawed and squawked above our hiding places, circling around the clearing, but, thankfully, moving on, traveling back southward.

An unspoken order passed between us, and we stayed hidden for a few more moments. I caught Estel's eyes, where he was hiding with Frodo under a rock outcropping. _They are gone. We are safe._ We all emerged from our hiding spots; Mithrandir seemed to have a furious air about him when he stood before us. "Spies of Saruman." Well that certainly explained the bird's concealment hex. It would have been easy for the rogue istar to fool my eyes: he was a wizard, a Maia, and I was simply an elleth with a few spells under her belt. I could never go up against Curunîr alone as Mithrandir had, let alone Sauron. How could Frodo do it? He was simply a hobbit!

I shook my head clear of the thoughts, as I strode across the rocks, listening once more to the wizard. "The passage South is being watched."

I desperately hoped the next words out of Mithrandir's mouth would not be: "We will go by Moria." I would rather travel over a hundred mountains than trudge through that dark place.

Thankfully, I was allowed a small reprieve by the fates. "We must take the Pass of Caradhras."

We all rotated, gazing upward at the formidable-looking mountain.

_Oh Elbereth, I didn't mean that literally!_

* * *

We changed our intended path, which was to go further south, and directed ourselves east. We made our way up the mountain for ten days, the tension between our fellowship and the harsh conditions growing to a breaking point.

The snow did not bother me in the slightest, nor did the occasionally heavy winds. I therefore attempted to give my coat to Estel. And of course, that stubborn, "benevolent" (as he called himself) mortal refused my accommodations.

So with a half-hearted glare at my friend (who was trying vainly not to shiver), I gave my cloak to Sam, whom had virtually given everything of warmth to Frodo, Merry, or Pippin.

He smiled thankfully at me.

Just then, after I had given my cloak to the hobbit, there was a thump on the ground, only perceptible to my ears, and my best friend shouted in alarm behind me. "Frodo!"

I spun around quickly, my eyes falling upon the ring-bearer, who had fallen into Aragorn, down a steep incline. I had hardly even noticed the hill.

Estel caught him before the perian could fall further. He brushed the snow off of himself, before checking his neck for that accursed ring.

I had already discerned that it was not there.

Because a couple of meters away from me was the One Ring, glittering dangerously in the snow.

I heard distant whispers in the air, but they were not calling to me. Nay, they were crooning to the son of Gondor.

And, of course, it was ill-fated, that the Ring of Sauron was in reach of Boromir.

Fortunately, the man picked up the object by its chain, which usually hung around Frodo's neck. Perchance the temptation would not be as strong.

Aragorn spoke calmly, but with a warning in his voice. "Boromir." The other man was completely oblivious to my friend's interjection.

The son of the Steward looked almost sad, though mostly wistful, as he spoke softly. "It is a strange fate we should suffer so much fear and doubt…over so small a thing." I prepared to take action; to do something, _anything_. My hand moved unconsciously to my belt. A knife lay there: one I could throw so fast that Boromir would be hit before he understood what was happening.

"Such a little thing…"

Boromir extended a gloved hand to touch the Ring, and my knife inched its way out of the sheath at my waist.

That was when Estel intervened. "Boromir!" Said man looked up, snapping out of the trance.

"Give the Ring to Frodo." Tensions rose as Boromir hesitated for a moment, before descending the slope, towards the ranger and hobbit. I noticed that Aragorn had taken the same precautions as I: his sword hand was resting, tense, on the hilt of his weapon.

Boromir held out the Ring, and it dangled freely, seemingly innocent. "As you wish…"

Frodo snatched the Ring, and I could see fear in the Halfling's eyes. Fear of Boromir.

I would keep an eye on that man from now on. I would protect Frodo with my life; and honor my oath.

Boromir laughed carelessly, and scoffed lightly. "I care not."

He jokingly tousled the hobbit's hair, and turned back towards us with one parting glance at the Ring.

Both Estel and I slowly loosened our grip on our blades, before releasing them completely.

* * *

Translations –

**Curunîr – Saruman**

* * *

**Word-Count: 1693**

**So, that concludes Chapter 7. The next one should be up pretty soon (maybe even before my school starts: Sept. 8****th****), because I'm already halfway done with it. I've got a head start this time! *Giggles happily***

**That's about it. I'm running out of things to say in these disturbingly cheerful A/Ns. *Laughs nervously* As another aimless note, because of this story, I have now been picking up Elvish, and medieval speaking habits at an alarming rate. Now, whenever my mom asks me a question, I answer "Ai," instead of yes, and "Nay" instead of no. She's beginning to think I'm a bit crazy…heh heh.**

**Namaarie! (Farewell)**

**~CC. **


	8. Caradhras

**Ok, I've officially run out of things to say in my A/Ns. Here's Chapter 8, which really isn't my favorite one (actually, I think the last one wasn't the best either, but I was kinda frantic in writing that. Didn't really edit that well.)**

**Okay! Remember, no recognizable characters belong to me. They all belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. *sob***

**(Note: Heh, I couldn't resist putting this quote at the beginning…lol, Legolas is such a strange cookie in the books xD )**

Chapter 8 – Caradhras

* * *

"**If Elves could fly over mountains, they might fetch the Sun to save us…"**

**~ Gandalf**

"…**Hm, the strongest must seek a way, say you? But I say: let a ploughman plough, but choose an otter for swimming, and for running light over grass and leaf, or over snow—an Elf…Farewell! I go to find the Sun!"**

**~ Legolas, "The Ring Goes South"**

* * *

_This will freeze them to death! Can't Mithrandir see this? _We were currently trudging through very deep snow on the edge of Caradhras, in the middle of a bloody blizzard! The hobbits were now up to their thighs, and Gimli was submerged to his knees. And while the tall people of our fellowship were only shin-deep, my light-feet padded on the surface of the snow, barely leaving tracks.

The wind was quite irritating, of course, but I was not cold. Therefore, I pitied my companions immensely, but how could I restrain myself from strolling ahead slightly, while my friends grunted and shivered behind me?

This was truly a bad idea.

It is not as if I _wanted_ to go through Moria – quite the opposite – but this would surely mean the death of them all, and the hobbits did not deserve that.

I did not realize I was drifting forward to the edge, until I heard a dark and loathsome voice chanting with the wind.

The deep, commanding monotone was laced with poison, chilling the air in a way that was not the work of the world.

"Cuiva nwalca Carnirasse…nai yarvaxea rasselya!" **| Wake up, cruel Redhorn…may your horn be bloodstained! |**

It was spoken in a cruel tone, and yet, the language was Sindarin. I was relieved that it was not Quenyan, but still, it sickened me to hear the dialect used for Sauron's purposes.

I called back to my fellowship. "There is a fell voice in the air!"

"It's Saruman!" Damn. Curunîr. There was a sharp crack, and then a loud boom that echoed throughout the mountain range.

We all threw ourselves against the sheer cliff wall, as tons of rock, ice, and snow crashed down mere feet from us. The boulders tumbled down alongside the edge of the path before falling silent below us.

Estel yelled against the wind. "He's trying to bring down the mountain! Gandalf, we must turn back!"

I was fast to agree. Mithrandir, however, did not relent in his determination. "No!"

He stood above the snow, walking to the edge of the path and throwing out his arms, shouting a plea in Sindarin at the mountain itself. "Losto Caradhras, sedho, hodo, nuitho i 'ruith!" **| Sleep, Caradhras, be still, lie still, hold your wrath! |** But Mithrandir's voice was drowned out by a more powerful and horrible maelstrom.

"Cuiva nwalca Carnirasse…nai yarvaxea rasselya taltuva notto-carinnar!" **| Wake up cruel Redhorn…may your blood-stained horn fall upon enemy heads! |**

When Curunîr's voice faded into an echo, a bolt of lightning struck the tip of Caradhras, sending a second avalanche of snow and ice down upon us.

I quickly grabbed Mithrandir and pulled him away from the edge, throwing him against the cliff-face behind us. He cried out, but his impact against the mountain was cushioned by my arm.

And then, we were buried in the snow.

There was a moment of mind-piercing frigidity – even for me, with my Elvish endurance – before I gathered my wits and emerged from the cold.

I gulped in mouthfuls of pure, chilly air in relief. The words Curunîr had uttered were compressing upon my chest. I felt like I couldn't breathe: not unlike the sensations I had experienced at the Council.

I prayed that Mithrandir would take action quickly. Preferably action which would _get us off this mountain_.

The rest of my fellowship, including the wizard, burst from the snow, sputtering and shivering profusely.

Boromir was the first to speak. "We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan, and take the west road to my city!"

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn argued.

And then, that accursed dwarf voiced his no-good opinion. "If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us pass under it. Let us go through the Mines of Moria."

My immortal heart skipped a beat. "Pe-channas!" **| Idiot! | **I hissed at him. The infuriating being just glared at me, daring me with his eyes to find a better alternative.

Mithrandir had frozen his struggle to overpower the ice and snow. _Good._ I thought. _At least one other person in this fellowship holds true dread for that place._

Mithrandir's eyes were dark mirrors of my own fear and doubt. He was rooted in deliberation for a few, tense moments. I could see the point where he had reluctantly made his decision.

"Let the ring-bearer decide." The istar announced wearily and grimly.

Frodo's face became panic-stricken. I felt a pang of pity: he should not have to make this decision for us.

"We cannot stay here! This will be the death of the hobbits!" Boromir shouted, whether at Frodo or Mithrandir, I do not know. Either way, he was correct. Merry and Pippin's pale and miserable faces proved that.

And yet, I could not bring myself to wish for Moria. _Come, Ellacári, be brave! _I chastised myself. If Moria would protect Frodo…then I would follow. I gave him my bow, and had no right to just abandon him because of our next road.

As soon as I had made my decision, Frodo declared with a grimace on his face. "We will go through the mines."

Mithrandir sighed heavily, and his voice filled with dread. "So be it."

* * *

Translations –

**Cuiva nwalca Carnirasse…nai yarvaxea rasselya – Wake up, cruel Redhorn! May your horn be bloodstained!  
**

**Losto Caradhras, sedho, hodo, nuitho i 'ruith – Sleep, Caradhras, be still, lie still, hold your wrath.**

**Cuiva nwalca Carnirasse…nai yarvaxea rasselya; taltuva notto-carinnar – Wake up cruel Redhorn! May your bloodstained horn fall upon enemy heads.**

**Pe-channas – Idiot  
**

* * *

**Word-Count: 878**

**Well, that's Chapter 8. Sorry that it's so incredibly short - I wanted Moria as a separate chapter also, so I kinda had to cut it off abruptly.**

**Thank you for all the reviews everyone has given me: whether they are positive or negative. Heh, I just thought it funny that my first flame was one from an anonymous writer saying "What if legolas was a woman? Well he wasn't, so what is the point?" It's called ****Fan****fiction. (Ooh, I'm having so much fun with flames!)**

**Once again, Hannon le! (Thank you!)**

**Namaarie! (Farewell!)**

**~CC. **


	9. The Mines of Moria

**As I've said before, I have totally run out of things to say in these A/Ns. As a side note, I have decided that my plan for the Mines of Moria is so…large, and overwhelming, that I am going to cut it into two parts: the first is of the actual journey through Moria, and the second is going to be of the battle with the cave troll in Balin's grave room, the Bridge of Kazachdum (wow, I'm really gonna have to research how to spell **_**that**_**), the Fall of Gandalf, and the journey ****to**** Lothlórien (not actually ****in**** Lothlórien: that will be an individual chapter on its own). Wow, I really do have this all planned out. *smiles in pride***

**Anyway, before I start the actual chapter, I would like to thank everybody who has commented and reviewed this story, or has even read my work! You guys are so great :)**

Chapter 9 – The Mines of Moria

* * *

"**Well, well! The passage is blocked behind us now, and there is only one way out—on the other side of the mountains."**

**~ Gandalf, "A Journey in the Dark"**

* * *

As we drew closer and closer to the entrance to Moria, I spoke less and less to anybody, until finally, falling silent completely. In retrospect, I suppose I should have been conserving my cheer, considering the events that followed in the mines. But I couldn't help myself. The mere thought of our intended destination would shock me into a horrid false sense of quietude.

Most of my companions seemed oblivious to my terror, which might have been for the best where the dwarf was concerned. All of them, of course, except for Estel.

I should have realized and accepted that my depression would be noticed by my elen-gwanûr: my star-brother. It would be as evident to him as it is to me when Aragorn himself is downcast. And yet, I continued to ignore him. His outright attempts to console me just dragged me deeper and deeper into isolation.

It was in these moments of complete despair that I dreamt of Elrohir.

The thought of the twin was always the one to bring me back to reality. He always reminded me of the reasons I had joined this quest in the first place: for Frodo, for Estel, for my Adar, for Middle-Earth…for Elrohir himself. And if protecting the ones I loved brought me into the darkest, deepest pit of Arda, then Valar help me, I would walk the tunnels of Moria.

And so, it came to be, that on the last day of our two-day trek from Caradhras, Estel growled out some Quenyan curses under his breath, grabbed my wrist, and practically dragged me to the back of our procession.

I had considered speaking to him, of course, before he so rashly took action, but this was definitely uncalled for. I sputtered indignantly. "Estel! What are you…?" The man glared at me with a raised eyebrow, as if daring me to argue. I wisely kept my mouth shut.

We walked alongside Bill the Pony, and began speaking in hushed tones. "Ellacári, I do not know what plagues your mind these past two days, but you have not so much as opened your mouth to speak! My heart longs for your singing, for one single smile, mellon-nîn! Why do you continue on with your silence?!" He hissed angrily at me, but even an orc could hear the concern and worry in the ranger's voice.

I sighed. "There is darkness here, Estel. You know that perhaps better than anybody, but you cannot sense what I can. Gimli…" I said his name with spite "…should not be _excited_ to enter these mines. All of them should be dreading the inevitable! Moria is cursed with shadow…and flame. I fear for the safety of the fellowship." Estel's face was still devoid of emotion, and of fear. I needed for him to understand. "Sauron is not Morgoth's only servant, Aragorn. Horrible things still slumber in the deep, dark places of Arda, and it would be wise for us not to awaken them!"

His head snapped up violently to my face, surprise and horror evident in his eyes. I looked ahead of us, saw Gimli and most of the hobbits looking on (obviously attempting to not look as if they were eavesdropping) and I quickly switched to Sindarin. "Lasto na nîn, Estel!" **| Listen to me, Estel! |**

He looked me in the eyes as I bluntly told him: "Im gost." **| I am scared |** The ranger looked at me with surprise. I continued, making sure he understood the importance of what I was saying: "Ananta im afad le ah Frodo aiqua rata." **| But I will follow you and Frodo on what ever path |**

Estel shook his head furiously, looking at me with sad eyes. "Lá raen ar nîn him. Cír Mithren him húr le, Ellacári…" | **You should not continue to wander with me. The Grey Ships are still available for you, Ellacári… |**

I looked at him with horror, and unconsciously switched back to the Common Speech. "Nay, Estel. I pledged an oath to you long ago, and I intend to keep it, until your dying day or mine." It looked as if he was going to interrupt again, but I shook my head, and fixed him with a glare, that clearly ended discussion. Then, I said in a softer tone. "I'm sorry I have been so distant lately. My fear for Frodo and this fellowship clouds my judgment." I shrugged, and grinned at him, feeling my old self return. "Or maybe it is just your mothering that makes me furious."

Estel smiled weakly at me, acknowledging the pivot for what it was and accepting it. "Are you implying something, milady?" I snorted. "Only if it seems that way, my _king_."

Aragorn scowled affectionately at me, before lacing his arm around my waist, and whispering. "You know, mellon-nîn, I think the hobbits have formed an opinion of us." I looked up ahead to see Merry, Pippin, and Sam gazing back at us with cheeks bright red.

I laughed quietly. _Maybe Moria won't be as bad as I originally thought. If Estel is with me, it can't possibly be _that _horrible._

* * *

"Dwarf doors are invisible when closed." Gimli bragged with a smug grin. I knew that while he did not say my name directly, he was obviously addressing me with these boasts. He would likely be just as arrogant the entire trip through Moria: the dwarves built this, and the dwarves constructed that, and the likes.

I decided to restrain myself just this once. This time, however, it was Mithrandir who responded. "Yes, Gimli, their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten."

I smirked, and could not help but have a retort to that. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" Gimli glared at me, and I chuckled in satisfaction. If nothing, annoying that dwarf would improve my spirits any day.

We were walking alongside the Walls of Moria, searching for the entrance to the mines. The door could only be seen at night, which was a most unfortunate circumstance. The rest of the fellowship could not see very well in the dark, and Frodo tripped on a rock, splashing his foot inside the lake mere strides from the wall.

I remembered Estel warning me about the lake, how a supposed Watcher lurked there, deep below the surface of the water. Ancient texts in the Mirkwood library spoke of such a creature, but implied that it had perished long ago, since no one in living memory had seen the creature, for all the dwarves that had witnessed the beast had long since passed from this world.

It took several minutes to discover the door to the Mines of Moria, and when the istar did discover the entrance, it did not, shall we say, go smoothly.

As the moon emerged from the clouds, the outlines of the Doors of Durin glowed bright silver: definitely of Elvish make. I considered boasting to Gimli about the beautiful Dwarven doors that _Elves_ had constructed, and which had _Elvish _writing on it, but decided against it, for Mithrandir had begun translating the writing above the doors for those who could not read it.

"It reads 'The Doors of Durin – Lord of Moria. Speak friend, and enter.'"

The lines seemed fairly simple, as Mithrandir had guessed, but something told me that it wasn't as easy to solve as it first appeared. These were Elvish doors, after all.

The first attempt went as follows: the istar placed the tip of his staff against the center of the door, the star in-between the intertwining of two trees, and spoke in a deep, commanding voice. "Annon Edhellen, edro hi ammen!" **| Gate of the Elves, open now for me! |** His words in my ears appeared to be the correct ones, but apparently, the Doors of Durin did not deem him worthy (and I am sure the wizard would cut off my head if I had said that aloud).

Either way, the doors did not open.

Mithrandir's first failure had left him unnerved, and the rest of us rather confused. He narrowed his eyes in determination, before raising his arms to try again. "Fennas Nogothrim, lasto beth lammen!" **| Doorway of the Dwarf-folk, listen to the word of my tongue! |**

Once again, the doors were silent.

Pippin, being Pippin, stated the obvious. "Nothing's happening."

I sighed in exasperation. Sometimes that one really does play on one's nerves. Mithrandir shot the hobbit an annoyed look, before pushing on the doors. But they remained fast.

The wizard muttered to himself (something only my Elven ears could hear). "I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves…Men…and Orcs."

_Ai, Mithrandir, but these are doors to _Durin's_ realm. It will not be as simple as that._

And again, Pippin aggravated the wizard. "What are you going to do, then?"

The istar retorted in a very annoyed tone. "Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took! And if that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words!"

By the end of his rant, Mithrandir had softened slightly. It was obvious that he was agitated and annoyed at his failed attempts to open the doors, but nevertheless, I saw Pippin shrink back under the wizard's gaze.

I walked over to the distressed hobbit and patted him on the shoulder lightly. "Do not be upset, Master Took." I said with a reassuring smile. "It is in a wizard's nature to be riled when failure lurks around the corner."

The hobbit looked slightly surprised at my speech to him at all: even before Moria, I had usually only spoken to Mithrandir and Estel. He seemed to recover quickly, and shot me a grin. "Thanks. And please, call me Pippin." I chuckled at his flustered appearance, before replying back with, "Indeed I will, if you will call me Cári." He nodded. I chuckled again, and moved to stand a couple of feet behind Mithandir, leaning up against one of the few trees I had seen in weeks.

The tree's inner conscience had lain dormant for some time: I could tell, as the tree seemed surprise when I asked him: _Pardon me, Master Beech, but would you happen to know the correct words to open the doors of which you guard?_ My new friend did the tree's version of a stutter, before replying. _You can talk to me? _I almost snorted. _Of course I can! I am a wood-elf. Although, I do not blame you for being hesitant. You probably haven't had a polite, civilized conversation with anyone in a very long time. Dwarves are always so rash._

The Beech tree quickly became happy with his new acquaintance, and seemed very willing to help in any way he could. _Dwarves do not speak to me anymore, but you should be very careful in the mines, madam. _Oh, he was such a gentlemanly tree! _Some evils have not surfaced on this earth, but dwell deep below the plains and mountains._

I nodded politely. I knew all of this already: Moria was a dangerous place. But nevertheless, we needed to gain access. _Our quest is dire, my friend: while I do not relish the thought of Moria, we must get to the other side of the Misty Mountains, and the Pass of Caradhras is devoid of hope. So please, do you have any idea of how to open the Doors of Durin?_ I asked politely as possible.

The tree was silent for a moment, before answering back. _I do apologize, Mistress Elf, for I have lain dormant all too long. All I know is that the lines are not what they seem: complex is the way of the Elves, as I am sure you know._

I chuckled, though my spirits had been diminished significantly. _It is quite alright, my friend, for my companion is very wise: he should be able to decipher the code._

The Beech sighed in relief. _It has been a pleasure to speak to someone again. And for that, I thank you. May you succeed in your quest, and have safe passage through Moria._

And with that, the tree fell silent under my touch. I sighed. _Be at peace, nilmo-nîn _**| my friend |**_: if we succeed, all creatures' burdens will be lifted._

I quickly turned my attention back to my companions. Farthest away from my position, Estel and Sam were relieving Bill the Pony of his packs, and were setting him free to return to Imladris. I think both of them understood in their hearts that it was unlikely the pony would survive, as there were orcs and wargs roaming the countryside, but it was a nice thought that the pony would find its way back to the House of Elrond.

Perhaps Bill _would_ find his way home. We could only hope.

The rest of the Fellowship seemed to be taking Mithrandir's lack of success in stride: Frodo, Gimli, and Boromir were leaning against the adjacent tree, and Merry and Pippin were…wait, were they _throwing_ _stones_ into the water?

I meant to go stop Pippin before he could lob a stone in after Merry, but Estel reached him before I did, catching his arm in mid swing. He muttered darkly (and in a very ranger-like way). "Do not disturb the water."

The ripples of Merry's stone ran through the ominous, black lake, as Mithrandir dropped his staff and collapsed on a rock. "Oh, it's useless!" He proclaimed hopelessly.

Aragorn, Boromir, and I were still watching the water warily. The ripples had become small waves, and now the previously untouched water was, well, disturbed. There was definitely something lurking there.

Suddenly, Frodo rose from his seat, and gazed at the door with a cocked head, thinking. After a few moments, he smiled in triumph. "It's a riddle."

"Speak 'friend'…and enter." He turned to Mithrandir, who was the only one seemingly oblivious to the lake. "What's the Sindarin word for friend?"

_Mellon._ I answered to myself, almost subconsciously. And of course, the wizard answered the same as I.

He said the word slowly, as if expecting it to fail. But the doors opened with a loud grumbling. Sam and Gimli leapt up from their seats, and I reluctantly followed them into the Mines of Moria, Aragorn bringing up the rear behind me, casting one final glance at the lake.

Once we were inside, the darkness did press in on my chest slightly, but it was bearable. The light from the moon and stars continued to shine through the open doorway, giving me a small measure of comfort. Along with Mithrandir's crystal he set on his staff, and my own inner glow which had a strange luminous warmth (causing my companions to look at me a bit strangely), the mines were not as horrible as I had expected.

And of course, as soon as we crossed the threshold, Gimli began boasting of the riches of Moria once again. "Soon, Mistress Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves! Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin."

Gandalf blew on the crystal, making it brighter, and I subconsciously extended my light. What I saw shocked me: dead dwarves, skeletons, crumbling, horribly battered and broken. Gimli still did not see. "And they call it a mine. A mine!"

Boromir's eyes became accustomed to the gloom as well. "This is no mine; it's a tomb!" The hobbits and Gimli looked around in horror, and the dwarf let out an anguished cry. It shook my heart; but I had no time to comfort the dwarf of his brethrens' deaths. I slid down next to a dead dwarf, pulling out its fatal arrow and examining it. Damn. "Goblins!" I spat, throwing the arrow down in disgust.

I backtracked to Aragorn's side as he and Boromir drew their swords. I quickly pulled out my bow and fixed an arrow in it seconds before their swords were even out of their sheaths.

Boromir muttered darkly and with a commanding tone. "We make for the Gap of Rohan. We should never have come here! Now get out of here, get out!"

I started towards the door, my arrow never leaving its position, when I heard a strangled cry. Three voices cried out in unison. "Frodo!" And Sam called out to us. "Strider!" Aragorn whipped his head around, and ran back towards the entrance. Boromir and I were close behind.

Sam hacked and cut at…wait, were those _tentacles?_

_No._ I hissed disbelievingly to myself. _Not again. I thought Arda was rid of these creatures! By the Valar—!_

For a moment I was brought back many millennia ago…to the Great War, where I fought similar monsters everyday on the battlefield. _A blast from the past…oh joy._

When I arrived at the Doors, the rest of the hobbits had been pushed back by the dozens of tentacles flying out of the water, and Frodo had been taken by one of them. He was currently screaming and thrashing about, hanging upside down.

I had no time to groan, for I saw a tentacle wrapping its way around Frodo's face. _No, dammit!_ I shot my arrow in the tentacle, and it released its hold over the Halfling's airways. For now.

"Aragorn!" The terrified hobbit screamed for my friend. Estel and Boromir plunge into the lake, swords drawn, and began cutting down tentacles. I fired arrow after arrow in rapid succession, knowing that my knives would do little here. But there were just too many tentacles. Frodo was soon dangling precariously over a hole of thrashing, menacing fangs.

Aragorn let out a cry, and sliced the tentacle holding Frodo clean in half. Boromir dived, and caught the shaken hobbit in his arms. Right at that moment, I was not thinking of Boromir's temptation to the Ring: I was worried desperately about his safety.

Mithrandir emerged out of nowhere, and shouted to all of us. "Into the mines!"

I heard Boromir scream my name. "Cári!" I looked up, and within a split second, had fired a shot straight in-between Aragorn and the son of Gondor. The creature screeched in pain at the direct hit to its eye, but continued following us regardless. The hobbits ran fearfully ahead of us, and I was barely aware of Boromir rushing past me, and Estel grabbing my wrist, pulling me with him into the Mines.

The Watcher of the Gates crashed into the side of the Walls of Moria, and produced a rock-slide of epic proportions. The boulders tumbled down in front of us, Aragorn and I missing them by mere feet, and sealed off our only entrance and exit.

The mines rumbled for a few seconds, as I steadied myself with Aragorn's shoulder. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, making the inevitable fact that we were now _trapped_ underneath a _mountain_ bearable. For a few moments, anyway.

But then, the rock-slide stopped, and the mine truly became silent. That was when the fear set in. _We aren't going to traverse the mine without a light, are we?!_ I panicked.

By this time, the darkness had completely extinguished my inner light, and it was pitch black. Even I could not see a thing. So when Mithrandir spoke in the darkness after our heavy breathing subsided, I felt relief explode inside me. Though, his words were not exactly comforting. "We now have but one choice."

A light appeared on the tip of the wizard's staff, almost blinding me. _Oh thank the Valar._

"We must face the long dark of Moria." He walked past us to the front of the procession, and Aragorn, who was at the rear, picked up and lit a torch. "Be on your guard," The wizard warned. "There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world." This last bit was said with a hinted look at me. I nodded to him. I would be on watch for any servants of the Dark.

He began moving up the staircase, and we followed. "Quietly now. It's a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed."

_Oh yes._ I thought with dread. _Let us pray._

* * *

As we traveled the paths, I felt the darkness crushing in on me, collapsing on to my subconscious. Without the light that I usually felt within me, Elbereth's light, I felt empty, hollow, and terribly cold.

I followed Mithrandir's crystal, as if in a trance, not truly there. We had begun traversing a path along the wall, with a deep abyss beside us, when the ithron turned back to us. "The wealth of Moria was not in gold…or jewels…"

He looked down into the abyss. "…But Mithril."

The rest of the fellowship made to look down, and I quickly summoned the light from Aragorn's torch and Mithrandir's crystal to expand, illuminating the dark hole.

A vast rock wall plunged into depths below that even I could not see the end of. Row upon row of ladders, scaffolding, old and disused, disappeared into the mining shafts below.

I whispered softly, so only the wizard could hear me. "Shadow lies here. And death. So much death." I could hear the screams, and I reached up to my ears to block the agony. It did not help.

I felt like screaming out in frustration. I looked at Mithrandir, and his eyes reflected back sympathy and sorrow.

I shuddered. _Why was it so cold in here?_

Then, the light I had taken faded, my short lived relief at having warmth leaving with it. And I was once again freezing.

The istar moved on, speaking to all of us still. "Bilbo had a shirt of Mithril rings that Thorin gave him." This surprised me, and helped me keep my mind off of the mines (which, in retrospect, was probably the wizard's intention). Gimli looked astonished as well. "Oh, that was a kingly gift!"

"Yes," Mithrandir agreed with a small chuckle. "I never told him, but its worth was greater than the value of the Shire."

We climbed on for hours, and although we could not tell when day or night passed, I felt certain that we had traveled for three days. We had stopped to rest, but never would sleep completely. Apparently Mithrandir was as determined as I to leave this accursed place.

However, after we climbed up a steep set of stairs to a cross-roads with three possible doors, the istar looked about, glancing from one door to the next, before saying in defeat, "I have no memory of this place."

* * *

Aragorn and Boromir were sitting against a wall together, smoking their pipes, as the hobbits bickered and Mithrandir sat on a rock, silently contemplating the way.

Regardless of the smoking, I reclined next to Estel, resting my head on his lap. His fingers automatically combed through my hair, relaxing my tense and cold muscles.

Boromir seemed surprised at our position, but at this point, I couldn't care less about what they thought of us. I wanted, no _needed_ Estel near me in this darkness.

And so we sat in companionable silence: Estel still smoking his pipe, Boromir sitting in front of the fire, and me, attempting to imagine us in Imladris, reclining against a tree instead of cold, hard stone.

Mithrandir continued to sit on his rock, eyes down, trying to remember the correct path. Frodo spoke to the wizard for a time, but I didn't bother to listen. It was most probably about Gollum: he had been tracking us for some time, and I had warned Mithrandir about his presence. I was sure the deformed hobbit would not try anything, not while we were with Frodo. He would most definitely continue following us, however; even when we arrived at Lothlórien. But he did not have the power to attack us outright.

And so, I did not worry. For there were other creatures of Sauron and his Master that I needed to concern myself with.

We rested for all of an hour, before Mithrandir finally shouted in triumph. "Oh!" He pointed towards one of the doors. "It's that way!"

Merry scurried to his feet. "He's remembered!"

Estel, Boromir , and I leapt to our feet, gathering the packs for travel once again. As we made to go down a staircase, Mithrandir said something that made all of us very anxious. "No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down here." The istar rested a hand on an astonished Merry's shoulder. "If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

I shrugged. Oh well. He _is_ a wizard, after all.

We traveled for three more hours, before emerging out of the cramped tunnels and into a deep cavernous area. Broken columns lay tumbled across the floor, and the hall stretched out who knows how many leagues. Even my eyes couldn't pierce the darkness.

Mithrandir narrowed his eyes, and holds out his staff, muttering to himself. "Let me risk a little more light."

All at once, the wizard's staff brightened considerably, and all of us squinted against the sudden onslaught of light after so many hours in dark caverns. The momentary blindness faded quickly, however, and what we saw struck us speechless, and made Gimli actually gasp.

The only one who seemed unfazed was Mithrandir. "Behold: the great realm and Dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf."

The light stretched on and on, seemingly endless in its depth. Tall pillars and columns lines the open space, holding up the ceiling to prevent the towering mountain from collapsing down upon us.

Samwise seemed barely capable of speech. "Now there's an eye opener and no mistake."

I still couldn't decide if I was dumbfounded, bewildered, or horrified. Either way, I was thunderstruck. Maybe dwarven craftsmanship deserved some more consideration…for this was truly an amazing sight.

We walked through the hall, awed, as if in a trance. As always, Mithrandir led the way, his staff glowing brightly like a beacon. But what met us at the _other_ side of the hall, most did not suspect. And what occurred in the hours after…would plague our entire fellowship forever.

* * *

Translations –

**Lasto na nîn, Estel! – Listen to me, Estel!  
**

**Im gost – I am scared**

**Ananta im afad le ah Frodo aiqua rata – But I will follow you and Frodo on what ever path.**

**Lá raen ar amin him. Cír Mithren him húr le, Ellacári… – You should not continue to wander with me. The Grey Ships are still available for you, Ellacári…**

**Annon Edhellen, edro hi ammen! – Gate of the Elves, open now for me!**

**Fennas Nogothrim, lasto beth lammen! – Doorway of the Dwarf-folk, listen to the word of my tongue!  
**

* * *

**Word-Count: 4,373**

**You know what? I've given up with the differences between Sindarin and Quenya *facedesk* Okay, the reason that some spells are in Sindarin and some are in Quenya is just because of the nature of the spell. So if you see the translation for one and you're like "Oh, why is a spell in Sindarin when it's supposed to be magic and therefore in Quenya?" Just remember…most spells are in Quenyan, but some are in Sindarin (they usually are when I'm just too lazy to translate them. Sindarin is so much easier than Quenya).**

**Ugh. But anyway. Next chapter is the fall of Gandalf. I actually really enjoyed writing this chapter!**

**But, alas, school has just started. *sobs*. I have a small break right now, but I go back on the 13****th**** (September, 13****th****, 2010). And then there's school until the end of June (*sobs again*). So again, just bare with me ('cause I'm sure everybody else has to deal with school too), and take comfort in the fact that I ****will not**** abandon this story!**

**~CC. **


	10. First Fight

**Disclaimer – No recognizable characters belong to me. They belong to Peter Jackson, New Line Cinema, and/or J.R.R Tolkien and Tolkien Enterprises.**

**So, here is the second chapter of my "Mines of Moria" part of the story: and it's entitled "First Fight".**

**There is going to be a whole lot of bloodshed in this chapter, so be warned!**

Chapter 10 – First Fight

* * *

"**I shall be glad. I have looked on Moria, and it is very great, but it has become dark and dreadful; and we have found no sign of my kindred. I doubt now that Balin ever came here."**

**~ Gimli, "A Journey in the Dark"**

* * *

The main hall, or what was left of the main hall of Dwarrowdelf, was much longer than it appeared, although it did have an ending.

When we finished our march and reached a large room at the end of the cavern, Gimli let out a cry of outrage, and ran forward ahead of us.

Mithrandir shouted a warning. "Gimli!" But the dwarf did not listen: he ignored the wizard and lumbered into the chamber. As we cautiously entered after him, I saw the dwarf collapse next to a crypt in the center of the room, and start sobbing uncontrollably.

And I didn't have anything to say to that. Because I recognized the scene: it was what I had done when I had watched my own Ammë die…so many centuries ago.

Boromir moved to clasp the dwarf's shoulder, silently comforting the distressed man as I stood a few feet away, silent in respect.

Mithrandir leaned over the slab of stone, translating the runes aloud. "'Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.'" He sighed grimly. "So he is dead then. It's as I feared."

Gimli slumped against his cousin's tomb, as the istar picked up a decaying and crumbling book from the grasp of a fallen dwarf. That was when I began to hear the drums. I could not place the evil that lurked here, but nevertheless, I needed to warn Estel. "We must move on." I said urgently to my friend. "We cannot linger here!"

Estel looked as if he would speak, but Mithrandir's reading interrupted the man. "'They have taken the bridge…and the second hall.'"

Gimli ceased sobbing, and looked up at the wizard with a blank expression. "'We have barred the gates…but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes.'" He read on, horror creeping into his voice. "'Drums…drums…in the deep.'"

He looked up slowly, before turning a blood-stained page. "'We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark.'" Those words sent a chill up my spine. "'We cannot get out…they are coming.'"

A loud clang echoed to my right, shattering the silence. Pippin had twisted the hand off of a decaying corpse, and the skull, helmet and all, bounced down a deep hole. Before anyone could stop it, the body fell in after, and then, a metal pail and chain.

It felt as if that clamor could have awoken anything in this world. The metal objects crashed down the abandoned well, and with every echo, the guilty Halfling flinched.

We all held our breaths for a few, tense moments: not daring to move, and praying that the commotion would go unnoticed.

Silence.

Mithrandir shut the book in fury as we all exhaled in relief. "Fool of a Took!" He said, clearly angered and relieved. "Throw yourself in next time, and rid us of your stupidity!"

The hobbit did look very apologetic and ashamed, but even more relieved that his misadventure did not cause any danger to us.

This, was unfortunately, going to change very quickly.

Mere seconds after Mithrandir's outburst, the ground began to rumble and quake ominously. It was an army, come to destroy us. Frodo pulled his sword out of his sheath, and it was glowing bright blue.

"Orcs!" I hissed, alerting the others to Frodo's luminous blade.

Boromir whipped about, running towards the doorway. I heard the distinct sound of an arrow flying through the air, and a loud thud as it embedded itself in the door (and thankfully, not Boromir's flesh).

Estel ushered the hobbits back, to the center of the room. "Get back! Stay close to Gandalf!" He dropped the torch, and ran to the entrance to help Boromir shut the door.

I searched about the floor for axes to barricade the now closed doors. I heard a loud bellow from outside, and then the son of Gondor saying sarcastically, "Oh good, they have a cave troll!"

_Well that just makes it so much more interesting!_ I thought to myself.

I tossed the axes I had found to Boromir, who quickly wedged them into the doors with Estel's help.

Mithrandir threw aside his hat, and drew his weapon, the Elvish sword Glamdring **(1)**, and let out a fierce warrior cry, while bending into a standard fighting stance.

Boromir, Estel and I backed away from the doors. As I drew an arrow from my quiver, and set it into my bow, I noticed that the orcs were now beginning to penetrate the rotten wood.

Gimli leapt atop Balin's tomb, brandishing his axe dangerously. He snarled. "Let them come! There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"

A spear broke through the door, and a gnarled hand reached through the splintering hole. I narrowed my eyes in concentration, and shot my arrow. A shrill cry pierced the air, and the orc retreated back, only to be replaced by another.

I notched another arrow in my bow as Estel fired, and struck yet another orc.

Suddenly, the beasts broke through the door, and I fired my second arrow. An orc fell to my blow, and another to Estel's. I used my archery as long as I could, before switching to my knives for close-combat.

That was when the bloodlust set in.

I do not remember much after that, it was all a blur, really. All I was aware of was my deadly waltz. I felt Elbereth's power surge through me, and I forgot all. It was a familiar feeling, and felt disturbingly good.

Once I regained my senses however, after shooting the cave troll to save Gimli, I tried to watch my companions, particularly Estel. If that confounded man could get into trouble in _Imladris_, then he could definitely get into trouble here.

It was not as if I didn't trust Estel's ability to fight: it's just that I didn't trust his (very questionable) ability to stay out of trouble.

I was atop a crumbling terrace setting into my old routine (_parry, step, turn, thrust…_ Glorfindel's voice recited in my mind) when a long, heavy chain flew through the air towards me. "Ethiri **| Watch out |**, Cá…!" Estel yelled to me, but I ducked as the chain swung around above my head before he could finish.

It circled around again, but the third time it wrapped itself around a pillar and I secured it with my foot. Being my "usual, reckless self" (as my Adar says) I leapt unto the troll's shoulders and shot it in the back of it's head.

It roared in pain, and I jumped off before the monster could throw me off.

As the battle surged on, I caught glances in my peripheral vision of my companions, fighting fiercely and bravely (especially the hobbits).

I began my bloodthirsty dance once again, and I did not emerge for many deaths of orcs. Even _after_ I began seeing red spots flutter across my range of view.

The only thing that shocked me out of my stupor, was Frodo's voice shouting. "Aragorn! Aragorn!"

I heard my friend answer back. "Frodo!" A growl was ushered from the cave troll, somewhere behind me. But I was already fighting five orcs at once: if I moved from my position, one of my enemies would surely run me through.

Oh, but how my soul cried out to me! _Ellacári, they're in danger! You have to help them!_

But the sensible, calm, confident warrior who had been trained by the famous Balrog Slayer himself, argued against my heart. _You won't be much good to them dead!_

So all I could do was listen, and pray to the Valar that I wouldn't hear the fatal blow being ushered to any of my friends.

I heard a loud roar from Aragorn as I parried a scimitar and stabbed an orc in it's throat. There was a loud thump, and for a split second, I didn't feel my brother's feä **| soul |**.

Frodo screamed in alarm, and my heart completely shattered in fear. "Aragorn! Aragorn!"

And the next thing I saw, when I whipped around, was the cave troll running Frodo through with a spear.

My gut sank, making my stomach physically hurt. _Oh, Valar._ To our horror, he gasped in pain once, before falling to the floor.

And yet…his feä did not wane. _There is no way Frodo could have survived that…could he?_

Sam rushed to his friend as I witnessed Merry and Pippin leap onto the cave troll's shoulders. Merry was thrown off instantly, but Pippin held on, tightening the chain around the creature's neck.

I set an arrow, positioned it just right, and fired. It went straight up his nostril and struck his brain. I felt like laughing in triumph, but as I was still furious about Estel and Frodo, all I could manage was a glare.

The cave troll wobbled, and tipped, before finally collapsing. Dead.

With the death of our last enemy, my bloodlust and adrenaline faded, and I was left alone in the darkness once again.

Estel reached Frodo first, and sighed in sorrow. He grasped the hobbit by his shoulder, and…by the Valar, he was alive!

Samwise sputtered, his eyes widening in surprise, before he practically dove to Frodo's side.

_Thank you, Elbereth. You have truly been gracious this day._

"I'm all right," Frodo gasped out. "I'm not hurt." Aragorn looked at the Halfling in awed disbelief. "You should be dead! That spear would have skewered a wild boar!"

Mithrandir smiled knowingly. "I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye." As if on cue, Frodo revealed his secret: a beautiful, glimmering Mithril shirt.

I smiled. _Bilbo, you old rascal! Thank the Valar that he was wearing that though…if he hadn't been…_I refused to think of that outcome.

We soon had no time to admire further, however, for the clamor and growls of goblins reached our ears; and they were much closer than I expected.

Mithrandir straightened. "To the Bridge of Khazad-dûm!"

* * *

Translations –

**(1) **Glamdring – Gandalf's sword (translated as "Foe-Hammer" in English).

**Ethiri – Watch out**

**Feä – Soul**

* * *

**Word-Count: 1,656**

**Okay, I have a lot of things to say in these last, departing messages.**

**First: I am so sorry it took me so long to update! There's just been that flurry-of-things-you-do-in-the-first-week-of-school going on with me lately. But, since I'm going into my second week, it'll settle down a little, and maybe I'll be able to get some serious work done.**

**And on the topic of serious work, I decided to cut off this chapter instead of going on like I planned, because I couldn't really work on the next chapter (serious writers-block and I've been busy, of course), and I didn't want to deprive you guys of the next chapter because **_**I **_**couldn't find the time to finish stupid chapter 10.**

**All right, I'm done with my whining about school, but here's my other matter that I have to address: I have found an interesting bit of trivia on line.**

**First, it may surprise you that while I have read ALL the Appendices in Return of the King, and have persevered through the Hobbit, I can not physically bring myself to finish the Silmarillion. Yeah, I know: it's pretty sad. I just cannot finish it! So, that's why I didn't know this: one of Elbereth's names…is Elentári! Isn't that **_**really**_** close to a certain fanfiction she-elf name you know? And I didn't even do that on purpose! Strange, huh…well, great minds think alike (not that I'm comparing myself to Tolkien…oh no, far from it…) Anyway, Elentàri roughly means "Star-Queen." And I found out that Ellacári roughly means "All Heavenly". Huh; who knew?**

**Alright, that's it! Pretty long A/N. I am sorry that it took me so long to update (again, school's been a killer). I've already started on the next chapter, so I should be done sooner (and I've found a technique: bring a book to **_**school**_** and write during **_**free periods**_**! Isn't it ****brilliant****?!)**

**Naamarie!**

**CC. **

**P.S. To both of my friends, Roxi and Bianca who are reading this, thanks you guys! I'm dedicating this to you (for your birthday, Roxi! See, told you I'd dedicate it!) Happy birthday!**


	11. The Fall of the Wizard

**Again, disclaimer: nothing belongs to me. It all belongs to J.R.R Tolkien and/or Peter Jackson/New Line Cinema.**

**Okay, last part in my Mines of Moria part of the story. I just really like drawing this part out, don't I?**

**Sorry that it took so long, though.**

**Lotta fear and angst here, people!**

**Seriously, angst is like, my best friend. (Love you, angst: my buddy! My pal!)**

…**I seriously need to get a different hobby.**

Chapter 11 – The Fall of the Wizard

* * *

…**It was like a great shadow, in the middle of which was a dark form, of man-shape maybe, yet greater, and a power and terror seemed to be in it and to go before it…"Ai! Ai!" wailed Legolas. "A Balrog! A Balrog is come!"**

**~ "The Bridge of Khazad-dûm"**

* * *

We didn't have much time.

It was a simple statement of fact; a perfectly normal admittance. And yet, it struck me as funny. I'm _immortal!_ I have all the time in the world…and yet, here I was: running out of _thrice-damned time!_

I would have been laughing at the irony of it all if not for those goblins that were currently chasing us. Underneath a mountain. With only one bloody exit.

So, you see, that rather crushed the humor.

We continued sprinting down the abandoned hall of Dwarrowdelf, attempting to reach the Bridge of Khazad-dûm in the Mines of Moria.

Not too many bright prospects in my immediate future, as you can see.

I could sense, rather than see the goblins swarming…like spiders. It was sickening, and reminded me too much of the dark depths of Mirkwood. But we kept running, out of pure instinct, I believe.

I glanced at Estel, communicating with my elen-gwanûr with my eyes. _When they converge, lead the hobbits out. I can shield you for a few minutes; if nothing else, help them flee!_

Aragorn looked as if he would argue, except I fixed him with one of my father's glares. Thankfully, his argument abruptly disappeared in his eyes.

My companions and I made it about halfway down the hall, before the monsters intercepted us, forcing our group into a small circle. They snarled, almost mocking us with their horrible, large, reptilian eyes.

I drew my arrow, subconsciously counting escape routes and possible scenarios where we all made it out of the mines alive…

Nothing.

Well that _was_ a shame.

All I could do now…was go out fighting.

My warrior training had prepared me for this moment. My final battle, and my welcoming into the Halls of Mandos. My outward visage remained calm and confident; but I was ashamed to admit that inwardly…I was properly frightened.

The goblins appeared as if they were going to attack, and I stiffened my lip. But only a few seconds later, they each let out a shrill cry of fear, and…retreated!

There was a tense moment of silence as the creatures scurried off. But as soon as they disappeared, the relief was replaced with dread.

"…What evil would a legion of goblins fear…?" I asked my friend softly. Aragorn didn't bother to answer, for no sooner than five moments after I had asked a deep, dark voice began murmuring words of Sauron in my ear.

Roaring…growling…howling…too much flame, and darkness. I felt like screaming; wailing, clawing my ears off. "…Valar rehta mîn…" **| Valar help us |** I whispered the prayer softly, with a deep shuddering breath.

I clutched my head in one hand, pain gnawing at the edges of my mind. Estel searched for my other hand in the darkness, clutching it desperately. "Are you all right?"

I hated to admit it, but I had to tell him the truth. I shook my head furiously, before glancing at the huge door opposite the one leading to the Bridge. I paled at the faint, orange and fiery glow that was emitting from the tunnel.

Boromir met my eyes, and flinched. Perhaps he saw my fear, for he turned to Mithrandir and asked softly, "What new devilry is this?"

I was dreading the wizard's answer. And yet, I had to know if my suspicions were correct. I had to know if Morgoth's servants had arisen in this place.

Mithrandir paused, gazing back at the fire with a finality and compliance that was unnerving, before answering the man. "A Balrog…" my heart skipped a beat, before franticly restarting, "…a demon of the ancient world…" All the blood had drained from my face, and I suddenly felt frigid, even though the fire was burning my skin.

A particular loud growl echoed through the hall, and I clenched Aragorn's hand tighter. I was physically shaking now.

"This foe is beyond us…" Mithrandir spoke, his voice trembling. "…Run!" He shouted, and none of us hesitated in following his command.

Estel seemed to grasp the desperation of the situation as soon as I did. I knew that he had studied and heard a first account of the fall of Gondolin, and Glorfindel's subsequent battle with the Balrog.

Maybe my best friend understood that if this demon was half the one Glorfindel had described, then we were in _very_ big trouble.

We were ushered through the arch by a frantic wizard, but Boromir did not heed the istar's warning, and almost tumbled down into the abyss. Grabbing his chest with one hand, and balancing on one foot behind him, I pulled him back roughly, and he collapsed on top of my legs in a heap. The man was panting with fear and adrenaline, and I think we both understood that if I hadn't reached out, he could've died right then and there.

The periannath nearly crashed into us, but somehow stopped just in time. I couldn't see Gimli, Aragorn, or Mithrandir.

I grabbed Frodo and Sam's shoulders, hoping that Merry and Pippin were following, and propelled them down the stairs. We needed to get out of here _fast_.

As soon as I was aware of Estel behind me, I ran on with Mithrandir beside me. It almost seemed as if we would make it: but it was not to be, for as we reached the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, we encountered a large gap in the stairs, a huge chunk broken off. The hobbits skidded to a halt, almost going over the edge.

I looked at Estel, who nodded silently at me. I easily leapt over to the other side, turning around on the balls of my feet and calling out to the elderly wizard. "Mithrandir!" I shouted. Hopefully he would not argue...

He hesitated a moment glancing back behind us, as the fire grew hotter and more intense, but I shouted again. No! I would not lose another one of the istari **| wizards |** to shadow! "Avo acheno!" **| Don't look back! |**

The wizard leapt with surprising agility, but nevertheless, I caught him in the crook of my arm, as I had on Caradhras. Just because the Maia was who knows how many millennia older than me does not mean that I could not be protective of him.

Such a worry was I: Mithrandir could take care of himself.

As soon as the istar landed safely next to me, however, we encountered yet another obstacle: orcs, shooting poisonous arrows at us, aiming to kill, of course. Some were directed at the hobbit's feet…much too close. Gimli shouted to me. "She-elf!" Before the dwarf could even finish, I drew an arrow, firing as many as I could into the pillars adjacent us.

I was certain that I had hit all five. But there were just more of them to take the dead archers' place.

Boromir grabbed onto Merry and Pippin's shoulders, and jumped, landing onto the middle of the stairs. I caught Merry, who looked as if he would fall, and returned to my place at the edge of gap.

Yet more rocks tumbled down into the depths of the mines: the stairs would collapse soon…we needed to move quickly, if we had any chance of escaping the Balrog.

I called out a warning to my friend. "Estel…" He nodded, though didn't seem to completely understand my meaning. Instead of jumping _himself_ with the hobbits, he literally threw Samwise over the gap. Luckily Boromir was by my side to catch him, for I feared that I would not reach the flying hobbit in time.

Gimli was next (why wasn't Aragorn throwing _Frodo_ over first?! He was the Ring-Bearer for Valar's sake!), and when it looked as if Aragorn would throw him as well, Gimli held up his hand. "Nobody tosses a dwarf!" I groaned. _Oh, forget your pride for a moment, you stupid dwarf!_

And of course, just as I had predicted, the dwarf almost fell. And he would have, if not for my quick thinking and complete disregard for the dwarf's honor. "Not the beard!" He shouted in outrage. I could not have cared less.

Finally, only Estel and Frodo were left on the stairs. _Of course it had to be those two._

Frodo clutched my friend's arm with fear. _Come on, Estel…_ "Steady…hold on…" Estel warned.

I heard the Balrog roar once again in the not-so-distant distance, and my fear for my friend's was replaced by my fear of the shadow demon of Moria. "Aragorn!" Our wizard companion shouted.

The stairs swayed precariously, and I flinched.

"Hang on…lean forward!" The rock lurched, tilted, crumbled, but obediently careened forward. "Come on!" I growled softly.

The piece of stair crashed against ours: lurching the hobbit into Sam, and Estel into me. I caught my friend, relishing in the unbelievable fact that my mortal friend had escaped death once again. He withdrew from my fierce embrace, and gave me a brief grin, before time resumed around us with a crash, and we departed from the stairs of Khazad-dûm.

We were unfortunately too late, however: the fire had already caught up to us. We all sprinted around a great tall pillar, and when I noticed Mithrandir had stopped abruptly in the middle, I swallowed my terror and ran to him. He pushed me roughly away. "Over the bridge! Go!"

I clenched my teeth, grabbing his wrist and trying to pull my mentor physically from the hall. If anyone was going to die in this mine, it was going to be me. Frodo needed Mithrandir too much: I was expendable.

Mithrandir must have seen the sacrificial thoughts going through my head, for he turned back towards the bridge, pushing me farther away with his arm. I heard Estel shouting my name somewhere in the distance, but something else was occupying my attention. I didn't really hear him.

Because that was when _it_ emerged.

A great form of dark shadow leapt through the flame, its eyes of a white fire; with great ash-black horns curling around a bull-like head. Flame licking across the demon's body, roaring, screaming in my head. Or…was that my _own_ voice screaming? I didn't really know. It just hurt so much. I was the representative of this creature's enemy. I was a servant of Elbereth…facing a servant of Morgoth.

My eyes narrowed, and I tried to sound brave as I shouted at the creature. "Lerya mîn, Valaraukar, ar heca! Héri Elbereth váre-húd sina: ar le val heht mîn!" **| Release us, Balrog, and go away! Lady Elbereth protects this company: and she commands you to leave us alone! |**

The creature roared in fury as I called upon my patroness. _Maybe that wasn't the best idea…_

At least it startled Mithrandir out of his bewilderment: the wizard grabbed my arm, practically dragging me towards our companions down the hall. I could sense and hear the Balrog pursuing us. As we caught up to the fellowship, they were already crossing the narrow bridge that had somehow appeared out of the flame.

I made to cross it, making sure Mithrandir was following me, and ran across, stopping only a couple of meters before the end when I realized that the istar had stopped only halfway across the bridge. I skidded to an abrupt halt. _That man better not be doing what I think he's doing!_ I thought angrily. I hoped the wizard heard me.

I moved to run back to him, to somehow distract the Balrog. But Estel had run up behind me, grabbed me around the waist and crushed me to his chest before I could move. I wanted to push him off of me as he dragged me back, but I was scared he would fall off of the very narrow bridge. I screamed in outrage, punching his arms as I heard Mithrandir say the damning words. "…the Servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Arnor…"

_NO!_

I heard Frodo's scream accompany my own. "Ellacári!" Someone shouted behind me: perhaps it was Boromir, though I still do not know what he was asking me to do. Stop the wizard? Stop myself from going after him? Did he want to protect me, or protect Mithrandir?

I still do not know.

All I know is that I didn't care in that moment, when Mithrandir faced the Balrog's mighty, fiery whip. I didn't even notice when my skin began to glow faintly for the first time in days. I focused all my energy on Mithrandir; and then…a sudden blue shield leapt up around the istar, shielding him from the demon.

The whip snapped down on my shield, and I crumpled in pain against Estel's chest, but the shield thankfully held. I felt Mithrandir's power surge under my protection, and on the bridge, he raised his staff and sword into the air. "You—shall not—pass!"

My mentor drove his staff into the bridge with a loud crack, and all was silent for a moment. The Balrog, apparently unaffected, made to move forward, but never got the chance. The bridge crumbled beneath the towering demon, and with a loud roar, he plunged backwards into the dark chasm, the light from its whip still glowing in the darkness.

And I did possibly the most foolish thing I have ever done.

I let go of the damn shield.

I knew the second that I let my power drain from Mithrandir that I had made a terrible mistake: for the glow of the Balrog's whip had not yet faded away when I went limp against Aragorn's chest, his fearful heartbeat putting me into a daze as I watched the horrific scene unfold.

The whip latched onto the istar's ankle…

…Mithrandir was pulled to the edge…

…and the wizard tried to hold on, but he was still an old man, weakened by the magic he had used.

"Fly you fools!" My friend, my mentor hissed at us, catching my eye with a meaningful glance.

And Gandalf the Maia fell soundlessly into the abyss.

All was silent, the orcs and their arrows had seemed to stop for a split second as the wizard fell, and a sort of numbing shock went through me: the calm before the storm.

Because a moment after Frodo's anguished cry of "Gandalf!" echoed throughout the mines, time crashed down around me, echoing in my ears as I heard my friend's last words in my mind over and over, each one ripping another hole through my chest. Fly you fools…fly you fools…_fly you fools…_

Oh Valar…it was as the dream had said: this was all my fault.

I sobbed silently, my legs going out from under me. Aragorn caught my waist, dragging me back towards the stairs as Boromir shouted "Aragorn!"

_No…no, Estel…just leave me here…_

"Dammit Ellacàri!" my friend shouted loudly, yet still distantly. It felt as if I was submerged in a lake…maybe I was drowning? But then, why was there no water?

"Lasto, mellon-nîn! LASTO!" **| Listen, my friend! LISTEN! |** My friend shouted again, and I gained my surroundings again. I scrambled to my feet, running numbly after my friend in a sort of trance. The arrows clanged against the stone walls protecting us, but I barely even noticed.

We fled down the hall, the heat suddenly fading as cool, crisp air flooded our senses.

_Outside! _We were _outside!_ Out of the mines!

I didn't really have time to be particularly happy about that however. My mind was still trying to process the notion of what I had just witnessed. Mithrandir was dead…

_How is that possible?! How could the Valar allow this to happen?!_

I was reminded once again of my dream before leaving with the Fellowship at Imladris. It hadn't just been a nightmare…it had been a vision, predicting Mithrandir's death. It all made sense now…everything fit. The fire…the sword, the shadows…

…The anguished cries of the hobbits.

Pippin was sobbing in his best friend's arms; Merry had a tear-streaked face as well. The sight of them broke my already shattered heart.

Sam had collapsed in a heap the moment we emerged from the mines: like me, his legs could not hold him up any longer. He sobbed alone. I did not know where Frodo was, but again, everything was a blur in those agonizing moments after Mithrandir's death.

Boromir was holding Gimli back from attempting to go back into the Mines of his predecessors. I had never seen the dwarf admit so much emotion before.

Estel grabbed my arms, lifting my trembling form off of the ground. I gazed back at him: silent tears slipping down my cheeks, but other than that, my face completely emotionless. I turned away from my friend quickly, determined to not let him see me break down. Once facing the stone wall, I carefully and methodically wiped the tears off of my face. _No. I cannot cry now. I must be strong for them. For Estel. For Mithrandir._

I took a deep breath. Our fellowship must be led to the Golden Wood. That was our mission now. We must get to Lothlórien. In Lothlórien, we would be safe.

Estel brushed his hand across my shoulder: a secret symbol we had together when he was a child. _We will speak later._

I nodded as he called, "Boromir…Ellacári, get them out…" Automatically taking charge of the company. _Good. Aragorn needs this. We need this._

I inhaled another deep gulp of air before walking silently over to Samwise's hunched form. I picked him up easily, brushing his shoulders off, and said softly, "Come, Sam…on your feet." The poor hobbit sniffled, and I quickly wiped the tears off of his cheeks. _Oh, you poor child…_

Boromir shouted in outrage at Estel's words. "Give them a minute for pity's sake!" Aragorn snapped back harsher than he had obviously meant to (as I could see the sadness still in his eyes). "By nightfall, these hills will be swarming with orcs! We have no other choice, Boromir."

The man of Gondor retorted with a halfhearted sneer. "And I suppose you are just going to take charge, Aragorn, now that Gandalf is gone."

_Oh please Boromir…please do not say his name…_I saw Merry flinch visibly at the man's choice of words. Gone…no, Mithrandir was not gone: he was lost. Lost to impenetrable shadow and flame…one that not even Elbereth could pierce.

"Boromir…just…get them up…" I snapped softly. I couldn't be bothered to argue with him now, it would just make things worse.

The man looked at me with sad eyes: I could tell that he had not truly meant what he said. We were all dealing with the sorrow – and Boromir's way of controlling his lamentation was through anger.

The son of Gondor picked up the two hobbits, clapping them on their shoulder lightly in a sign of comfort.

"Frodo!" Estel shouted. I looked towards the forest to see a silent and still Halfling. "Frodo!" My friend cried again. The hobbit turned slowly around, and my heart immediately broke at the poor child's appearance. His eyes shone with unshed tears, no façade attempting to even hide his agony a bit. And he looked much too haggard: it fully showed how much the Ring was weighing down this poor Halfling.

A tear slid slowly down his cheek, but he did not sob. Instead, he simply turned back around, and continued walking. I sighed softly. How could this happen? Why didn't Mithrandir simply let me die instead? Why didn't I hold the shield for a few seconds longer? Why didn't Estel let me go to him on the bridge? Surely I could've lifted him back up before I was hit with an arrow! Surely I could've saved him…saved us all…

How would we go on without Mithrandir? How would we survive?

How would the Darkness be defeated without my friend?

* * *

Translations –

_Valar rehta mîn – Valar help us_

_Istari – Wizards (plural)_

**Avo acheno! – Don't look back!**

_Lerya mîn, Valaraukar, ar heca! Héri Elbereth varé-húd sina: ar le val heht mîn! – Release us, Balrog, and go away! Lady Elbereth protects this company: and she commands you to leave us alone!  
_**  
Lasto, mellon-nîn! LASTO! – Listen, my friend! LISTEN!**_  
_

* * *

**Word-Count: 3,305**

**Again, I am SO sorry that this chapter took so long to update! I bet everybody's wondering if I'm going to give up…well I'm not! I just simply had to rethink my approach to this story.**

**Thanks to an anonymous review from "nin" (have any of you noticed that all kinda bad reviews are by anonymous viewers? *wink wink*) Anyway, he/she basically said that I needed to change the lines a bit. So, I'm trying to do that now mysterious "nin" (if you're still reading). Don't expect me to change **_**that**_** much, but in Lothlórien, there's going to be a lot of gap-fillers with Galadriel and Cári, and possibly with Sam and Cári, and Gimli and Cári. Also, I'm thinking of having a few musings about including a little bit of Celeborn wisdom in there somewhere! *smiles***

**Again, I really will try to update sooner next time! School's kinda slowed down now, so I can focus more on writing in my free time!**

**Naamarie!**

**~CC. **


	12. Lothlorien

**Disclaimer: There is one character this time that belongs to me: Daugion (which you will find out who he is when you read the chapter! *smiles mysteriously*) All the other recognizable characters are not mind (and my plan at buying them from Tolkien's descendants did not work out so well…if anyone hears the Po-Po looking for me, just say I moved to Japan… *wink wink*)**

**Here's the next chappy! I bet everyone's real impressed by how soon I updated this REALLY LONG CHAPTER! *wink* Well, I did start working on it the day I updated the last one. Which is how it **_**should**_** be! I write for the people! Not…the other way…around…wait…that's not it….**

**Alright, whatever. You know what I mean!**

**I'm gonna put Lothlórien into 3 chapters now, 'cause there's going to be a lot of gap-fillers in here. Interactions and stuff with the other characters (and some serious Celeborn wisdomy goodness…and some Galadriel mothering of Ellacári, and some serious brotherly/cousinly love from Aragorn and Haldir (I think of the Lothlórien elves as Cári's adoptive brothers and sisters)). It's gonna be great!**

**Oh, and another side note: thanks to another review that I got (again, thank you so much! I love you guys!) from "jada951", and I am following through! The bold words next to an Elvish word in this story is the translation (which means nobody needs to flip to the end of the story to see the translation, and that I have to do a bit more work…*shrugs* it's worth it!) And it'll be really important in these next two chapters, 'cause there's gonna be a lot of Elvish in here (they're in Lothlórien…there'll obviously be a lot of Elvish…'cause they're Elves…hence the Elvish…I'll should probably shut up now…). ****(UPDATE – 7/2/11 – I have now gone back to the previous chapters, and added translations and linebreaks!)**

**Now on to this ****wicked**** awesome chapter!**

Chapter 12 – Lothlórien

* * *

"…**Welcome Son of Thranduil! It has been long ago since we have seen much of our kin to the North…"**

**~ Celeborn, "The Mirror of Galadriel"**

* * *

Only one day had passed since the fall of Mithrandir in Moria, when we arrived in the outskirts of the forest of Lothlórien. The presence of the forest was comforting after the tragic onslaught in the mines; however, my calmness was penetrated by the constant lamentation of the trees.

All trees – oak, beech, chestnut, even pine – wailing out in harmony for the death of one of the Maiar. And although I was the only one who could hear their constant cries, the rest of the fellowship seemed to recognize the forest's sorrow: the trees drooped lower than usual, and the birds didn't sing anymore.

On the journey, the hobbits were unusually quiet. Not one complaint about food, or hunger, or how we were walking too fast. It was like they were numb, marching on, day by day, just trying to live past the next minute. Frodo, I noticed, was the worst. The wizard had been especially close to the Ring-bearer, and I knew Mithrandir's death would hit him the hardest.

But then again, the fall of our leader had hurt us all in many ways. Gimli and Boromir mostly kept to themselves, though the former wasn't exactly the most sociable person I knew at the time.

Estel had a strange, foreign determination on his features constantly. I had seen my friend determined before, of course: the mortal _was_ one of the most stubborn men I had ever known, but this face was different. Dangerous, cold, and terribly distant: like an actual king of old.

_Now I know how Aragorn feels when I am off sulking somewhere._ I thought to myself angrily. _Why will he not speak to me?_

There had still been no word from my friend at night when we had watch. We did not even speak with our minds anymore: our thoughts too grim to share with each other. I had been hoping that with the presence of Galadriel and the fair Galadrim, Estel would open up to me.

Little did I know…this was _Aragorn_ we were speaking of.

On the outskirts of the forest, on the second day since Mithrandir's death, I began to hear the soft whisperings of numerous elves. Gimli had begun to look nervously about the forest around yesternight, as if he could actually hear the stealthy and dangerous elves sneaking up on him in the darkness.

I had let the patrols circle us constantly, silently protecting us from the orcs surrounding their haven. I knew they would not hurt us (not while the heir to the throne of men and the princess of Mirkwood traveled in the company), but gaining entrance to the land of Galadriel would prove challenging. The Galadrim could detect the evil Frodo carried stronger than Noldor could: which explained why I was more affected than Ro and Dan at the Council when Mithrandir had spoken in the Black Tongue. It would be difficult trying to convince them to grant us refuge.

When we reached a small path through the trees, the hobbits' spirits lifted visibly. They must have sensed the presence of Galadriel and Celeborn in the forest. Gimli, however, was as tense as ever. "Stay close, young hobbits!" He warned quietly. "They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods, an Elf-witch…of terrible power." I snorted. Oh yes…if only they knew what _I_ was. "All those who look upon her fall under her spell…and are never seen again…"

"Do not fear the Lady of the Wood, Master Dwarf." I murmured to the surprised and wary nogoth **| dwarf |**. "She and I have more in common than you may believe…" The angry and slight disbelieving look on the dwarf's face was utterly satisfying, as I moved forward mysteriously. _Playing with his mind is so enjoyable!_

Just then, as I walked silently next to a blank Boromir, a small, silky voice probed the edges of my mind, and I granted it entrance. _Why do you travel with this evil, Melda Aranel _**| Beloved Princess |**_…why do you bring such doom to this pure place…?_

I smiled rather halfheartedly. _Alla, Héri-nîn…elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo. _**| Hail, my Lady…a star shines on the time of our meeting |**

A brief feeling of amusement echoed in my mind. _Indeed, little Vanwa Lassë _**| Lost Leaf |**_. But tell me…why does such sorrow cloud your thoughts?_

I sighed. _You have not seen our troubles?_

There was no reply.

Once again, I sighed. _Then you will discover soon enough…_

I closed off my mind to the queen whom I served: my loyalty to her secondary only to my loyalty to Mirkwood and my father. Galadriel was the second cousin of my Ammë…but she had also been Mithrandir's friend. No doubt she would have wished to see him one last time before his…death.

That one, seemingly innocent word cut stabs of pain through my heart. Death…death…death…

"Melancholy much, selen-nîn **| my cousin |**?" A distant voice whispered, and yet echoed through the forest, which only I could hear. My heart lifted: _Haldir._

And suddenly, I sensed the elves moving in around us. I drew my bow for good measure, just in case some misunderstanding Galadrim tried anything with our fellowship. But I was simply one elf. The hobbits gasped in fear, and Boromir and Gimli attempted to move to their weapons, but they had no chance.

The drawn arrows were pointed in every face, several in mine and Estel's. Aragorn didn't move, simply rolled his eyes. As soon as my cousin appeared, I visibly relaxed, disengaging my bow and putting it back around my shoulder quickly. Gimli gaped at me. _Why was that stupid she-elf putting away her weapon?!_

Haldir grinned at me, looking at my dwarf companion. "That dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark."

I snickered softly, glancing at Estel to see him doing the same, his cold and depressed façade slipping slightly, before coming back in place. _Hmm…_

The arrows did not move from their position in our faces. A bit of "royal rage" stirred in my blood at the naiveté of the elves in this company. Did they not know who they were threatening?!

"Daro, maethori!" **| Halt, warriors! | **I snapped in a commanding tone. All members of the fellowship except Estel looked up at me in surprise.

"Im Ellacári Vardáwa…heca!" **| I am Ellacári, Vessel of Elbereth…stand down! | **There was no answer, but small murmurings came from the elves holding the bows. I snarled (Atto **| Father |** would have been so proud) and spat out again. "Man cerig?! Im ped heca!" **| What are you doing?! I said to stand down! |**

The bows wavered hesitantly, before withdrawing completely (although it was done reluctantly). I growled softly, flashing my eyes to meet each of the warriors.

They each flinched slightly: why did that satisfy me so?

Haldir smirked at his warriors who were being unnerved by a Mirkwood elf. "You are right to fear this particular elleth. She may have her mother's appearance, but I believe she mostly takes after her father."

I smiled, my countenance brightening immediately. "Mae govannan, selen-nîn **| Well met, my cousin |**…it has been far too long." To much of the fellowship's astonishment (and the patrol's), I strode past the other elves and threw my arms around my beloved cousin in greeting. I smiled into his long, silver locks of hair.

"I have missed you, Haldir." He chuckled, holding me at arm's length. "Ai, and me you, Ellacári"Valar, was he always this tall?! Or have I merely forgotten his appearance?

My cousin released my arms, and bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment to Aragorn. My friend bowed in return, but it was stiff and formal. Haldir seemed to recognize this, and tilted his head in confusion. I shook my head in one small motion, and the Silvan nodded; moving on to the other members of the fellowship.

All was fine (well, "fine" being the debatable word when it came to Gimli) until Haldir's eyes fell upon Frodo. His smile shattered, leaving a serious and cold look on his face, before he addressed the Ring-bearer. "You bring great evil here, Master Hobbit…" I shot a disbelieving look at my cousin while Frodo gaped at the elf, and Sam quickly jumped to defend his friend.

What had the March-Warden been thinking?

* * *

"Haldir, saes **| please |**…we must pass through Lothlórien!"

"Ellacári, you know I would, but do you realize what object that perian bears?!"

"Yes…I know it is Sauron's Ring. We all do."

"Even the dwarf?!"

I sighed. "Yes…even the dwarf."

I heard Gimli grunt in anger behind us, so I easily switched to Sindarin. "Man osán le, Haldir?!" **| What were you thinking, Haldir?! |**

My cousin pinched the bridge of his nose (looking very much like Lord Elrond), and sighed. "Alae hi perian? Frodo?" **| See this hobbit? Frodo? | **I asked gently.

He glared daggers at me with a silent question, but I truly wasn't affected. I merely continued my point in the Common Tongue. "He carries the weight of the world." The March-Warden's eyes softened in pity: he was truly just trying to protect his realm from Sauron's hold.

I sighed once again. "Please, cousin…the road is already dangerous, and our fellowship will be forever in your debt."

My friend's eyes scanned behind my shoulder to the other side of the talan, letting his eyes rest on Estel and Frodo. He closed his eyes in thought, before finally shaking his head and admitting in a soft mutter, "I know I will regret this…"

I smiled in victory, kissing his cheek. "Hannon le." **| Thank you |**

Haldir smiled dryly, but with affection. "An ngell nîn." **| Happy to help |**

I walked across the wooden platform to Aragorn's stiff form leaning against a tree trunk, Haldir beside me.

Night had already fallen in the woods of Lothlórien, and if we started back towards the city now, we would reach Caras Galadhon **(1)** just before daybreak: which was obviously my goal. Nothing was more beautiful than Lothlórien just before sunrise…not even Imladris at midnight.

Aragorn straightened, bowing slightly to Haldir. But when he spoke, it was still stiff and formal, as if he had not known Haldir for nearly his whole life. "Le suilon, Haldir." **| I greet you, Haldir |**

Haldir looked extremely confused at the formal use, but nodded in acknowledgement anyway. _Oh, I am doing to have so much explaining to do when we arrive at the city…_

"Iston i nîf lîn, Aragorn o' Dúnedain. Le nathlam hí." **| I know your face, Aragorn of the Dúnedain. You are welcome here. |** My cousin answered cautiously and properly. _Good. Take the safe way out._

Unfortunately, my fear of communication between the two men was interrupted by an enraged dwarf. "So much for the legendary courtesy of the Elves! Speak words we can all understand!"

Haldir's eyes narrowed. _Oh no. I've seen that look only after Elladan and I dumped flour on him! This is not good…_

But my cousin managed to remain (semi-)calm. "We have not had _dealings_ with the Dwarves since the Dark Days…" and then, in a mutter that only the Elves could hear, "…hence the "Darkness" of those days…" I barely covered my snicker: the other Elves were not so successful.

Gimli, although he did not notice the smirks, remained even more furious. "And you know what this Dwarf says to that? Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul!" **(2)**

Now, I am knowledgeable in many dialects of Dwarvish – despite my distaste for the actual race – but this was a relatively recent tongue of the Lonely Mountain, and so I did not understand the words that Gimli had spat. I could tell, however, by the absolutely infuriated look on my cousin's face that it was definitely not "Let's be friends."

Aragorn snapped out of his stoic mask to react to the retaliation, grabbing Gimli by the shoulders and hissing: "_That_ was not so courteous."

Haldir clenched his teeth, shooting me a sideways glare. I sighed again, speaking to him aloud as a reminder. "Tolo, Haldir...boe mîn alae Galadriel ah Celeborn. Hí."

**| Come, Haldir…We must see Galadriel and Celeborn. Immediately. |**

He sighed inwardly, before speaking to my companions once again. "You will follow me."

Aragorn nodded to me in thanks for my help, and I smiled. The second he turned away to climb down the talan, I sighed, my smile disappearing. I don't think my friend even noticed.

* * *

"So…Ellacári…how do you and Haldir know each other?" I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Merry and Pippin were traveling with me near the back of our caravan as the sun broke over the trees, and we had so far been hiking in silence. _Now they think to ask?_

Haldir, who was merely two feet in front of us, snorted. "Ah, Master Hobbits. 'Tis a strange tale featuring two strange elves."

I chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. "Haldir…" I said pointedly, glaring at the other Elf for interrupting my reply, "…is my cousin. I have known him since we were just children."

Pippin gave a small smile (which was encouraging, considering that after Mithrandir's death, none of the hobbits had smiled at all). "Oh yes. I can see the resemblance."

I smiled again. "Ai. Haldir is the son of my mother's sister." Another stab of pain at the mention of my mother. I quickly put her out of my mind: thinking of my Ammë while still grieving Mithrandir was not a very conducive experience.

I sighed sadly. Unfortunately, Merry noticed. He whispered in a soft voice. "What happened to your mother?" I nearly froze mid-stride, but forced myself to keep walking, even in my shock.

Merry noticed yet again (hobbits are much too curious for their own good). "I'm sorry…that was out of line. You don't have to tell me…"

I smiled sadly. "No…no, 'tis quite alright. It is an acceptable question. She was killed…by orcs: a very long time ago. My father's palace was attacked…and we weren't prepared. We didn't have enough soldiers, and Rivendell was too far away to send for aid. My mother, she was never much of a warrior. She detested violence, so when orcs penetrated the castle, my father ordered me to take her and flee to Lothlórien. I wanted to stay and fight of course…but my father had virtually thrown me out the door. We ran through the woods, of course, as fast as we could…but apparently it wasn't fast enough."

I said this all with a relatively blank expression, and I could feel the hobbit's eyes glued to me (including Sam's, who was eavesdropping from his place on Frodo's side). "A separate caravan of orcs caught up with us in the forest, and all we had with us was a single sword. I didn't even have my quiver or knives, we had left in such a hurry. The goup of orcs that came upon us was far too large for just two Elves. My mother ordered me – as my Queen, whom I was sworn to obey – to hide in one of the trees, and she tried to distract the monsters…"

I sighed, shaking my head and looking off into the trees. "They killed her right in front of me, and I hated myself for a long time for not helping her. But…I suppose my loyalty to my Queen outweighed the love for my mother."

The hobbits looked like they were going to staunchly disagree with that, so I quickly continued on. "We did eventually retake Mirkwood…but things were different after that, to say the least. My father and I became rather obsessed with trying to destroy Sauron…and we lost many of our kinsmen before realizing our self-destructive behavior was…against my mother's wishes, to say the least."

Pippin looked at me, tears brimming in his eyes. "That's so sad…I'm so sorry, Ellacári…" He patted my arm in comfort, and Merry did the same. I smiled encouragingly at them. "Please, do not worry about me. This is something that happened millennia ago…you need not fret."

Haldir – who had been subtly listening in on the story – slowed down his pace so that he was beside me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Ilquedhel nien gurth Tári Lairënuriel…lí naneth na-mel ilya…" **| Every elf mourned the death of Queen Lairënuriel…your mother was loved by all… |**

I smiled at him, gripping his hand. "Hannon le…" **| Thank you… |** My cousin nodded, before one of his caravan called him forward again for a conversation about our path.

Meanwhile, the hobbits were staring at me and the silver-haired elf in amazement. Frodo rolled his eyes with a small smile gracing his haggard features.

I smiled as well, looking at the stunned Halflings. "Would you like to learn Sindarin, Master Hobbits?"

Pippin squealed – I mean, _actually squealed_. Merry laughed, although with still a hint of sadness, at his friend's completely excited expression, but seemed in agreement himself. I glanced at Samwise, who was nearly bursting out of his jacket at my question.

_Good…they need something to keep Mithrandir off their minds. They've been seemingly happy and engaged these past few minutes, and have obviously not thought of him…if they let their grief consume them, it would be bad for us all._

I nodded. "As soon as we arrive at Caras Galadhon…" Pippin interrupted me. "What does that mean?" I smiled with a raised eyebrow. "So quick to begin your education, are you, Master Took?" Frodo slowed his pace slightly, walking next to Merry on my left. "Well, 'galad' means 'light'. So Caras Galadhon would mean 'City of Light'?"

I shook my head, hoping to not discourage the young hobbit (whom I knew had learned Sindarin from his uncle). "Nay...'Galadhon' comes from the Sindarin root…" Frodo suddenly looked triumphant. "Oh! Galadh!" The other Halflings looked confused, so their friend elaborated. "It means 'tree'. So Caras Galadhon means 'City of Trees'? Am I right, Ellacári?"

I smiled again. "Ai, Master Baggins…Bilbo taught you well in Sindarin. Do you know any Quenya?" Frodo shook his head. "No, only the Grey Tongue. Although I do know some words in Common Telerin…but they are much more complicated." I chuckled. "Oh yes, I definitely agree. My native tongue is Quenya, but it took me a whole month to learn how to say a complete sentence in Telerin…I think my father has already given up trying to teach me it."

Frodo chuckled: the first time since Mithrandir had died. _Yes! My plan is working!_

However, I did not have time to congratulate myself of my victory against sorrow, for at that moment, Haldir whistled softly, calling for me. I ran up the hill easily, not making a sound, and stood by my cousin's side. He spoke to me softly without turning his head. "We will make Caras Galadhon by dawn." I nodded in satisfaction. "Good."

Haldir nodded, and turned to face me. That's when I realized his sad, almost anguished, eyes and expression. "So cousin, when were you going to tell me that Mithrandir is dead?"

* * *

When we arrived at Caras Galadhon that following night, most of our fellowship was already exhausted: the earlier mirth completely drained and replaced with the heaviness of death once again.

Truth be told, I did not have the bravery (nor the heart) to tell Haldir of the wizard's passing in Moria. He must have known something was amiss when Mithrandir did not accompany us to Lothlórien, but to most elves, Haldir included, it seemed an impossible idea to grasp the idea of any Maia falling into shadow. Curunîr's betrayal had hit all the Firstborn hard, and Mithrandir's death would just further show Sauron's continuing victory against the forces of light.

So how Haldir had managed to gain the information, either from one of our fellowship, or just a certain gut instinct, I have no idea. Either way, I refused to tell him before I informed Galadriel. So I simply looked at his, sad, despairing face with a blank expression, before moving back towards the Halflings near the rear of the caravan.

It truly pained me to walk away from my hurt kin…but what could I do? I would not announce Mithrandir's death with my (at this point) inevitable break-down. No. I would have to be strong, especially when we arrived at Lothlórien…

_Oh Valar…we _have_ arrived…_

When we walked through the veil of willow trees surrounding the borders of Caras Galadhon, all members of the fellowship, even a stoic Aragorn, gasped in awe. It was truly a wonderful, if familiar, sight: the beautiful tall mallorn trees towered above us like statuesque mountains. Their height could not be guessed, but they stood up in the break of day like living towers, and in their many-tiered branches and amid the ever-moving leaves gleamed golden lanterns, powered by the magic of my people.

All members of my company were speechless, in awe of the beauty protected here: even Gimli. I smiled, closing my eyes in respect and reverence. Oh, how it felt so good to be basked in light once again. Even when night had fallen, the City of Galadriel still shone as if spotlighted with Anar. **| the Sun |**

The cheerful ellith **| elves (f.) |** we passed who knew me personally waved with peaceful smiles on their faces; the ones who didn't bowed to us respectfully, and yet, still with joyous smiles.

_Why do we have to be the ones to shatter their good days…for that is what will happen. When elves mourn…we do not only cry: we lament for weeks, months, years._

Haldir led us along many paths I recognized, and then up so many stairs that Gimli and the hobbits were panting lightly by the time we reached the top. The wide platform was lit by silver lamps that swung from the boughs of the mallyrn, emitting a soft light that created shadows in the light of dawn against the brilliant foliage.

And then, two Elves whom I had respected – and indeed, loved – for most of my life emerged from the gradual staircase I had played on as a child once upon a time.

Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel were clad wholly in white; the simplicity, and yet intricate designs of the Lord's robe and Lady's gown shown perfectly against the previously unseen pale sunlight, making them appear like the Valar themselves in the Undying Lands.

Our fellowship had now frozen in awe of the two Eldar: Gimli was blushing profusely while staring at Galadriel conspicuously; the hobbits were struck helplessly speechless, and Boromir was staring at the Lady with surprising fear.

Although Galadriel met each of our eyes evenly, without hesitation, Lord Celeborn was the one who spoke first. There was no preface to his words, he just began with a simple admittance. "The Enemy knows you have entered here…whatever hope you had in secrecy is now gone."

I closed my eyes in resignation. This was one thing I did know, that I had not told my companions. I had felt Sauron rise stronger leagues away in the East, and had long felt his fiery eye flicker upon us in the dark times of night: even before Mithrandir's death in Moria. But I wished not to alert them, especially Frodo, of this revelation. Apparently my kin and lord did not know the importance of discretion.

Again, Lord Celeborn proved my assumption. "Eight there are here, yet nine there were, set out from Imladris. Tell me, where is Mithrandir the Maia?"

Galadriel was staring at Aragorn intently, who was to my right slightly. Then her eyes met mine, in a silent question. _Oh Ellacári…_

I sighed as Celeborn continued on oblivious. _Please, milord! Save us this added pain. We do not need any more!_ I shouted angrily in my head, wishing that he could hear me.

"I much desire to speak with him…I can no longer see him from afar."

Galadriel finally spoke, and when she did, the physical sound of her voice forced my heart to lift in happiness, even if the topic she spoke of was far from joyous. "Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land…he has fallen into shadow."

The Fellowship tensed almost imperceptibly, especially Aragorn, I noticed thoughtfully. But nobody was replying to the Lady. I took a deep breath, meeting the queen's eyes with a steady gaze. "He was taken by both Shadow and Flame…a Balrog of Morgoth. For we were led needlessly into the net of Moria."

Celeborn looked truly astonished: extremely surprised for one, cruel, split-second. Then sorrow shone on his fair face, twisting his features into a disbelieving frown. However, Galadriel did not look surprised. In fact, she looked as if she had expected the admittance (which was likely).

Instead of acknowledging her husband's grief, Galadriel disagreed lightly with me, meaning to comfort my troubling feelings. "Needless were none of the deeds of Mithrandir in life, aranel-nîn **| my princess |**…we do not yet know his full purpose."

Galadriel smiled softly, and continued on with her speech to the company. I did not fully hear most of it: just the sound of her voice soothed me into a blissful, half-aware state where I knew – I just knew – that things were going to get better.

"…go now and rest for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will sleep in peace…"

Celeborn nodded lightly in greeting to me, speaking to me with his deep, silver eyes: _We shall speak tomorrow._

I nodded wearily: I would enjoy my deep slumber this night.

Before turning back around to find our beds for our stay, Galadriel caught my eye, and gave me one message in mind-speak. _"Alatulya mar, Ellacári…" _**| Welcome home, Ellacári |**

I smiled. Yes…welcome home.

* * *

Translations –

**Nogoth – Dwarf**

_Melda Aranel – Beloved Princess_

_Alla, Héri-nîn…elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo_ –_Hail, my Lady…a star shines on the time of our meeting.  
_

_Vanwa-Lassë – Lost Leaf_

**Selen-nîn – My cousin**

**Daro, maethori – Halt, warriors**

**Im Ellacári Vardáwa…heca! **– **I am Ellacári, Vessel of Elbereth…stand down!**

_Atto – Father_

**Man cerig?! Im ped heca! **– **What are you doing?! I said to stand down!**_  
_

**Mae govannan, selen-nîn** – **Well met, my cousin**

**Saes – Please**

**Man osán le, Haldir?! – What were you thinking, Haldir?!**

**Alae hi perian? Frodo? **– **See this hobbit? Frodo?**

_**Hannon le – Thank you.**_

**An ngell nîn – Happy to help (lit. For my joy)**

**(1) **Caras Galadhon – Main City of Lothlórien. Meaning: "City of Trees" (Sindarin)

**Le suilon, Haldir – I greet you, Haldir**

**Iston i nîf lîn, Aragorn o' Dúnedain. Le nathlam hí – I know your face, Aragorn of the Dúnedain. You are welcome here.**

**(2) **Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul! – I spit upon your grave! (Dwarvish)**  
**

**Tolo, Haldir…boe mîn alae Galadriel ah Celeborn. Hí. – Come, Haldir…we must see Galadriel and Celeborn. Immediately.**

**Ilquedhel nien gurth Tári Lairënuriel…lí naneth na-mel ilya – Every elf mourned the death of Queen Lairënuriel…your mother was loved by all**

_Anar – the Sun_

**Ellith – Elves (fem. pl.)**

_Aranel-nîn – My princess_

_Alatulya mar, Ellacári – Welcome home, Ellacári_

* * *

**Word-Count: 4,311**

**Hello guys! This is the longest chapter I have ever written for this story! *Claps myself on back*. YAY! I seriously love this chapter: more than I do the Council of Elrond: seriously, this chapter is AWESOME (and if you're reading this…then you've obviously read it already…'cause it'd be pretty weird if you were reading this before the actual chapter…I'll shut up now)**

**So here's the deal: for the next two weeks, I probably won't post. And you all know that I want to VERY BADLY! But it'll just probably take a longer time. *frowns* Yes, I know…I want to post too. I want to see what happens in Lothlórien as well, but I have 3 HUGE tests on the 24****th**** of October (yeah folks, that's just 3 days away! *starts hyperventilating*), the 5****th**** of November, and the 6****th**** of November. So, as you can imagine, I'm studying up a storm (and don't you just hate it when your school gives you like, 7 big essays due on the same week as all those tests?! I have 2 tests, a project, and an essay due…UGH!)**

**Alright, I'll stop my lamentation now…for now. I'll let everybody know how it goes when I post again! (Tim Spac and iMaximumSeddie: we can so do this!).**

**Wish me luck!**

**Naamarie!**

**~CC. **


	13. Never Forgotten

**Mae govannan, everybody! First, the disclaimer: I don't own any of this: it all belongs to J.R.R Tolkien and New Line Cinema. However, in this chapter, the character ****Minuialwen**** belongs to me (read more to find out!)**

**Sorry it took so long to post! Again, I have a lot going on, and I was kind of dreading this chappy…**

**This one's mostly gapfillers in Lothlórien for the Fellowship: I hope that I can fit in interactions with Ellacári and Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli, an OC character, possibly Frodo, Merry, and/or Pippin; then there's some with Galadriel, Haldir, Celeborn, and possibly Elrohir (but you'll see how I fit that one in! *wink wink* The quote below gives you quite a hint, however. **

Chapter 13 – Never Forgotten

* * *

"…**It seems that the Lady knows who and what is each member of your Company. ****New messages have come from Rivendell perhaps…"**

**~ Haldir, "Lothlórien"**

* * *

"A Olórin I yaresse  
Mentaner I Numeherui  
Tírien I Rómenóri…

**| Olórin who once was  
****Sent by the Lords of the West  
****To guard the Lands of the East… |****  
**

Melme nóren sina ro  
Núra ala  
Eäro…"

**| His love for this land  
****Is deeper than the deeps  
****Of the sea… |****  
**

The song was slow, deep, and haunting: such was the way of my people. My heart broke at their anguished voices…their melody resonated in my heart and shattered my soul.

Sadly, death was a familiar and seemingly customary thing which surrounded the Firstborn constantly. It was simply something that accompanied being an immortal. Time passes, moving on so incredibly fast in our eyes…with mortals' births and deaths coming so quickly they seemed to blend together into one event. But I had been so certain for my whole life that Mithrandircould not _possibly_ die…he was one of the Maiar, for Valar's sake! Manwë could not condemn one of his own, could he?

Mithrandir was one of the few people whom I had been certain would never leave me: or leave in any sense of the word. The one person whose funeral I would not have to cry at. As I said, men would die, as would dwarves and hobbits, and all Elves eventually fade, even me.

_But you will always be here, won't you, Mithrandir?_ I had asked the istar such a long time ago…when I was only around a decade old. It was after one of my grandfather's advisors, Veryangóle, had passed into the Halls of Mandos after a brutal attack on Doriath: he was killed _very_ slowly and _very_ painfully, I could imagine, as Morgoth did not spare his victims. The wizard had been visiting Mirkwood at the time, and when I had asked him about death, he would not meet my stubborn and confused gaze. He would not even look at me the rest of his visit…

But that was then. This was now: the soft melodies of my kin's sorrow drifting down from the talans, silencing the hobbit's sad and halfhearted chatter as they sat in their beds. I could pick out my friend, Minuialwen's **(1)** voice among the croonings: her sad, yet resonant voice reminding me of better times.

I rose from my place next to a silent Aragorn, leaning against our tent's pole, humming softly in tune. "What are they singing?" Merry asked no one in particular.

"A lament for Gandalf." I answered after a second of hesitation, using the wizard's common name for the first time in a long while.

Merry continued his soft and harmless questioning, boring holes into my back. "What do they say about him?"

I smiled sadly. "I have not the heart to tell you…the grief is still too near."

Aragorn raised his head, gazing at me with a blank stare. I shook my head. Once, the man would have understood, but now…I didn't know what to think.

"Maiaron I Oiosaila,  
Manen elye etevanne  
Nórie I malanelye…?"

**| Wisest of all the Maiar,  
****What drove you to leave  
****That which you loved…? |****  
**

"Ilfirin nairelma  
Ullume nucuvalme  
Nauva I nauva…"

**| Yet we will cast all away  
****Rather than submit.  
****What should be shall be… |****  
**

All my companions seemed captivated for a moment more by the anguished singing…but only I felt the tears well up in my eyes at the words being said. _What drove you to leave that which you loved?_

Samwise muttered something to himself, not realizing that I was listening. "I bet they don't mention his fireworks. There should be a verse about them."

The Halfling stood up, speaking to our fellowship with confidence and care. "The finest rockets ever seen…they burst in stars of blue and green. Or after thunder, silver showers…came falling like a…rain of flowers."

He sat quickly back down, obviously embarrassed. "Oh, that doesn't do them justice by a long road."

I smiled sadly, waiting until another verse in the song began, before singing softly, more to myself than anyone else.

"Tríw carag arae-ui,  
Narv elen lhun ah calen  
Ben me'urramya celeb rost  
Talt ve rosse lótho…" **(2)**

**| The finest rockets ever seen,  
****They burst in stars of blue and green  
****Or after thunder silver showers  
****Came falling like a rain of flowers… |****  
**

I smiled sadly again…yes, it should be a verse. Samwise did not realize how true and beautiful his words were.

The hobbits had gone silent, as had all my other companions, after the song died in my throat. When I opened my eyes, I saw that Gimli had this sort of star-struck and awed look on his face, and he was looking at me as if I was Galadriel herself. _Do I really sound that much like her? I am only distantly related…_I wonder if he suspected our blood-bond, however weak it may be.

Boromir had drifted closer to our campsite, choosing to recline against a small rock. His warrior stance was relaxed and content for the first time since Imladris. And to my left, I saw Aragorn's faraway gaze, seemingly seeing nothing, although his stance was also relaxed.

Despite the break of anguish my singing had caused, I was surprisingly irritated. To this day, I do not know why, but I was suddenly very irate with a certain ranger. I cast Aragorn a dry look, and actually _snapped_ at my best friend. "Lá nírnaeth ceri maer." **| Lamentation will do us no good |**

He seemed confused at my tone, so I elaborated. "Nor will it bring _him_ back."

Estel widened his eyes, glancing at each of the confused companions quickly before returning to me. "Mellon-nîn…"

I interrupted him, my blood still boiling. "Is that what I am? Are you quite sure? Please, tell me Hir-nîn **| my Lord |**…because I just don't know anymore."

An even more hurt, confused, and shocked expression had taken over my friend's features. I _never _called him "my lord" without certainty that he would not take it the wrong way: his destiny was still a sore topic, after his family and I had hidden it from him for a quarter of a century. On the outside, I suppose I looked uncaring to the words spurting from my mouth. But within myself, I was horrified. _What are you doing?! He's your best friend! It's not his fault that Mithrandir is dead…it's yours!_

…_The whip snapped down on my shield, and I crumpled in pain against Estel's chest..._

…_I __let go__ of the damn shield…_

…_I watched the horrific scene unfold…_

…_The whip latched onto the istar's ankle…_

…_and Gandalf the Maia fell soundlessly into the abyss…_

…_Oh Valar…this was all my fault…_

I snapped back to the painful reality quickly: no time had passed at all between my recent outburst and the painful flashback I had just experienced. I shook my head, spinning around on my toes hastily, my face burning in shame, and disappeared into the puzzle of paths that is Caras Galadhon, letting Aragorn's cries of my name drown out behind me.

* * *

"Ú-reniathach  
I amar galen…  
I reniad lín ne môr, nuithannen."

**| No more will you wander  
****The green fields of this earth…  
****Your journey had ended in darkness. |****  
**

I drifted through the raw forest on the outskirts of Caras Galadhon silently: feeling colder than I had since the depth of Moria. My outburst had been uncalled for: of course I realized that now. However, I couldn't have just bottled up my emotions for the rest of the journey, the guilt would have destroyed me.

_You could have saved him. You could have saved him…by just hanging on to the shield for a little longer…just five seconds more would have been all that was needed._

I flipped through possible scenarios in my head: hanging on to the shield; the fiery whip ricocheting off of the invisible barrier; Mithrandir running down the bridge…up to the end of Moria, and into the woods beyond. The celebration that would've gone on that night for our fellowship. It would have been glorious.

_And now…all because of me…there will be no celebration. What is there to celebrate, anyway?_

Amidst my ponderings and thoughts, I did not seem to realize another creature creeping up to my strolling form. When I did get my bearings again, I found, to my dismay, that I had left my weapons back at the camp. _That is what you get for letting down your guard!_

"Alla **| Hail |**, Ellacári Greenleaf…why do you dwell here in such melancholy?"

I breathed out a sigh of relief.

"That is a question to which you very well know the answer to, Lord Celeborn."

The lord chuckled softly, but shrugged. "If I knew the answer, why did I ask the question to begin with? Come now, child, speak…I really do not know."

I snorted. "If I may speak freely, sir, that's a lie."

"Hmm. Perchance."

"Thank you for being so frank."

Both of us had stopped walking after this rather odd conversation. I turned to face the lord for the first time since sensing his presence. He had simple grey robes on, with the same color leggings underneath. I could see no weapons, which worried me.

"It is dangerous out here, Hir-nîn **| my Lord |**…you should not be out of the city without a guard, or at least a weapon."

Celeborn narrowed his eyes mysteriously. "I have my weapons. You simply can not see them."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine."

The smile he had been trying to disguise broke through, and he chuckled. "But these are very interesting questions coming from an elleth who barged out on her friends, completely forgetting her bow _and_ knives in the process." He tsked lightly. "Not even a dagger, Lassë? I'm astonished – I thought Glorfindel had taught you better than that."

I shrugged. "I have other means of defense. You simply can not see them."

Celeborn raised an eyebrow as his own words were thrown back at him. "Indeed."

There was a comfortable moment of silence. Then, without warning, the ancient elf spun around slowly – seemingly resigned to the fact that I would not speak to him – and moved towards the cover of deeper and darker trees. He stopped at the edge of the hidden path I knew he was going to traverse; and without turning around told me: "Do not blame yourself. Death and destiny are things that not even you can control."

I didn't bother answering, for at that moment, the elf lord disappeared into the deeper forest. How he could have known of my crushing guilt completely eluded me. Then again, he was the lord of Lothlórien, and more importantly, the husband of Galadriel. Some omniscience must be required to live such a life, I suppose.

But regardless of Celeborn's advice, I could not help but let the guilty thoughts continue to linger in my mind, twirling them over and over again as I crept through the mallorn trees silently.

The sky darkened, time glided by much past midnight, until I found myself back at the fellowship's camp mere minutes before dawn. It appeared to me at first that all of my companions were sleeping deeply and fitfully: even a worried and tense Boromir.

I could see right when Galadriel had spoken to Boromir at our first meeting that he was more wary here than he had been in Moria. That's one aspect about the Lady of Light: she shows you things which you may not want to know, but you _need_ to know. There's no filter, quintessentially.

I wondered if Boromir had been shown something he hadn't wanted to see.

Upon further inspection, I noticed, without too much worry, that Frodo was the only one gone from his bed. He was not in any danger here: as long as he stayed within the limits of the city, no creature would harm him. Of that I was certain.

I crept past the camp, meaning to find Haldir and ask him for a spare room. I did not want to bother my companions any more than I already had. The moment I turned my back, however, a familiar voice stopped me in my tracks. "Daro." **| Stop |  
**

I pursed my lips, and whispered quietly, "I do not wish to wake the hobbits. You should go back to sleep, Estel: mortals require it."

The man snorted. "Has that ever worked before, Ellacári?"

I thought about that for a moment. "Unfortunately, no. It should, though."

Aragorn shrugged. "Would it be terribly horrible if I disagreed?"

I couldn't answer that. A few seconds of silence passed before the man spoke again. "If you wish to not wake the hobbits, then let us converse elsewhere. For you know that I will find a place to speak with you."

Gimli snored loudly, turning in his sleep, before falling asleep again. I let out an exasperated sigh. "Be iest lîn." **| According to your wish |**

The mortal nodded, rising silently from his bedroll, and strolling over to meet me outside the clearing. He followed me obediently through hidden paths, trusting me without argument. His loyalty, even after I had mocked and obviously hurt him, astounded me. _You ridiculously mortal man…_I thought affectionately.

We arrived at an oval-shaped clearing, with a huge willow tree in the center: the only one within the borders of Lothlórien. It was extremely old: it had been here millennia ago, and it was still here now. I reclined underneath the aged and protective branches and leaves, my friend sitting beside me.

There was another silence for a few minutes. I couldn't bring myself to speak at all. I was afraid that if I so much as began to apologize, I would burst into shameful and guilty tears which had been held in for too long, so I held my tongue for the time being.

Estel, for his part, must have guessed my train of thought, for he opened his mouth as if to speak. It stayed open for five seconds. Then ten. Then fifteen. Eventually, he gave up on finding the words he was trying to spit out, and simply threw his arms around my body, effectively burying his head into my neck.

"Estel…?" I asked softly, lowering my head to try to look at him.

His usually stormy silver eyes were in turmoil: now appearing more as a dull, melancholy grey. The rims around his eyelids were red, and a few, silent tears were slowly slipping down his cheeks. To tell you the truth, I was absolutely astounded. I had not seen Aragorn cry since he was barely a man: a young boy in Imladris of sixteen, before the fate of Middle-Earth had fallen on his shoulders. And now, nearly seventy years later, he sat here on the eaves of Lothlórien, letting his emotions show for the first time since he was a teenager.

Now it was my time to become sentimental. Tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision, and I once again wrapped my arms around my best friend, burying my face in his hair.

We didn't say anything for a very long time: so long, in fact, the embrace became borderline uncomfortable. And yet, I couldn't bear to break this sweet moment of innocence: it was just too pure and freeing to interrupt with such silly things as words. Both of us knew what we meant, and there was no need for speech.

Some things were just better left unsaid.

* * *

"Pacing is not good for elves, selen-nîn. It makes us look more like Men, don't you think?"

I spun around quickly, surprised that, in my pondering, I had not heard Haldir sneak up behind me. "Hello, Haldir."

The tall, blond Marchwarden of Lothlórien grinned happily. "Is that all the greeting I get? After being your friend and family for your whole life?"

I smiled. "You did escort me here, remember? Or are you so old that you are forgetting the recent past?"

Haldir smirked. "You might want to take that back when you speak to the Lady: compared to us, she is ancient."

I chuckled. "Ai, but I am her third cousin and a princess: you are merely her third cousin and her Marchwarden. Therefore, your punishment will be worse."

The lights around the clearing flickered slightly, giving way to the fact that Galadriel had been eavesdropping on our conversation. This time I truly laughed: amusement bubbling up inside of me. Haldir grimaced in mock horror at the flickering lanterns, moving forward and hugging me, as if I were a hostage. "Hurt me and the princess gets it."

I laughed again, shoving him off of me playfully. "Come now, Haldir. This is serious!"

Haldir nodded, straightening, though still with that cheerful smirk on this face. "The Lady Galadriel wishes to have an audience with you, Princess Ellacári. May I escort you once more?"

I took his extended arm, twirling on my feet with a flourish. "You may, good sir."

We strode up the towering and lithe staircase leading to Galadriel's private meeting chamber, not making a sound as we steadily rose into the air, still with the stupid grins on our faces.

The chambers were just as I remembered them: huge, open, chilling, and simply breathtaking.

_I almost wish that Gimli could see this room…then he would finally shut his trap about the greatness of "dwarvish architecture."_

The room (more like small hall) had been constructed to be a miniature version of Caras Galadhon itself: tall, intricate pillars swirling and intertwining through the canopy of beautiful mosaics more than fifteen feet above our heads.

The Lady of Light sat silently in a corner over a small bowl of crystalline water: water from her Mirror.

_The liquid is said to be the tears of Nienna herself…mixed with the blood of her brother Mandos, the Lord of the Halls of Waiting…it has the power to reflect your soul back at you…what you have done…what you are doing…what you will do…or what you could do. Those are called "might-have-beens…" "_…but you can always change those Ellacári…"

I smiled as the clear, perfect memory became reality, and the Lady Galadriel's voice pierced my innermost thoughts…her words creating an unsung melody drifting across my ears and soul.

"Hello, Milady." Haldir said, bowing to the Lady of Lothlórien in respect and honor. I quickly followed in suit, both of us only rising when she motioned for us to.

The next thing I knew was the sensation of a graceful hand holding my cheek, and suddenly falling into a pool of sapphire blue as she looked into my eyes.

"Ai…what have you gotten yourself into, Thranduiliel…?" **| Daughter of Thranduil |**

I chuckled at the utterly ridiculous question. What had I gotten myself into? "I seem to be wondering that myself lately, milady."

Galadriel's soft laugh warmed my heart, transporting me back to all those summers spent in Lothlórien before the Ring was found. "Ah, child…you have caused so much trouble as of late. Your father has been driven to insanity, your beloved worried beyond belief, and your cousin here had been wearing a hole in his talan floor before your fellowship arrived here in the Golden Wood."

My eyebrows rose as I took in this new information, and I turned to see a crimson red Marchwarden. I smirked. "Wearing a hole in his talan floor, eh?" He sputtered indignantly. "I had reason to be worried! This is _you_ we are speaking of. For all I knew, you could have come here with an orc scimitar through your stomach!"

I snorted. "That was a highly unlikely possibility, Haldir, really. That only happened that _one_ time, and how was I supposed to know…"

"Now, now, children…Haldir, can you—"

"'Tis fine, milady. I must go on patrol anyhow." The tall Marchwarden sent me one last amused glance before disappearing from the room.

I turned my attention back to the lady, remembering what she had told me seconds ago. "Wait…my father has gone insane—" I stopped abruptly. "Well, that was bound to happen eventually, but what about my so-called 'beloved'?"

Galadriel looked at me mysteriously. "You know of whom I speak. My fool of a grandson." She chuckled. "Though, out of the two, I must say Elrohir is the most pleasant to be around. And the least troublesome."

I blushed profusely, turning away from her keen and accurate observations. "Elrohir is my friend…not my beloved." I stared wistfully down at the basin of clear, crystal water.

Of course, the lady disagreed. "You speak falsely, Princess of Mirkwood. You mind says it can not be, and yet your heart wishes it otherwise."

I shook my head in stubborn denial. "Nay, milady. Elrohir…" I stopped, trying to find a reasonable way to explain this "…is _not_ interested in me. And whether I want him to be or not, the fact is that he does not want me to be his wife."

The lady raised an eyebrow. "I am sorry to tell you this Ellacári: but you are irrevocably in love with Elrohir Elrondion **| Son of Elrond |**." My eyes widened, and against my wishes, blood rushed into my face. "My lady!"

Galadriel drifted away once again. "If you still cease to believe me, then see for yourself."

Much to my curiosity (and slight horror), the Lady of Light found a small scroll, tied with a sapphire blue ribbon.

She drifted over to my slightly trembling form once again, and handed the pale parchment to me with just a hint of smugness.

I took the letter, unwrapping it slightly to reveal, at the very top, Elrond and the official seal of Imladris.

_Oh no._

As expected (and anticipated), the crinkled, white paper revealed a smooth, naturally written piece of calligraphy, which sent shivers up my spin as I recognized it. Elrohir's handwriting.

Galadriel rested her hand on my frozen shoulder. "You may change your opinion on the matter after reading this."

And, just as Haldir had, she disappeared, leaving me alone with my thoughts. And, of course, with the letter.

I breathed in and out to calm my nerves, before reclining on a small, comfortable chaise lounge, and beginning to read:

_Melda Ellacári, _**| Dear Ellacári |**

_I do not quite know how to start this letter. Or how to write it at all, really. I also do not know how to explain this need I had – still have – to speak to you, to see you. I do not think writing this letter will be enough…but let me get to the point. I long to hear your voice again, mellon-nîn…gellon ned i galar i chent gîn ned i gladhog. _**| I miss seeing your eyes shine when you laugh |**_ I wish I could lay eyes on you again…hear your singing, see your face…But what my worries are does not matter. You are the one out there: in the world, fighting Sauron. Taking the battle to the prime source. Making a difference, while I am sitting here, going out on patrols, but still sheltered like a child. The fate of Middle-Earth rests on the success of your journey, and all I can think about is how I should be there with you._

_But how could you know this? How could you know that I have lain awake many sleepless nights trying desperately to compose words that adequately describe how I feel…how to __explain__ this. I think I have wasted a year's worth of parchment trying…and each time, I have failed miserably. I am ashamed by how long it has taken me to speak to you about this – and even more ashamed by the manner in which I am. I am not even brave enough to tell you this to your face. Please forgive my poor effort. Truly, it should be easy. But I cannot help but believe that I am writing to an imaginary figment. My biggest fear is that I have misjudged your arrival in Lothl__ó__rien entirely, and you will never read this letter. That by now, you are already far past the reaches of messenger, and then, how and when will I reach you, if ever?_

_I have made up my mind. I will tell you now._

_I love you Ellacári Thranduiliel. I love you with every part of my soul, my heart, my body…I love you more than life itself. There are no words in any of the tongues of this Middle-Earth to describe it._

_I love you because of your kindness, loyalty, selflessness…but also because of your stubbornness, determination, capability, and bravery._

_I love you because you are my dearest friend…my companion who has been with me since the beginning. You comfort me at my worst moments, even when no one else does._

_I love you because you are right there on the battlefield next to me, even when the odds against us are a million to one. I love how the reason we got to that battlefield is usually because of me…and yet you never begrudge me for that._

_I love you because you respect me. You honor me the way I am, not trying to make me someone I'm not. I love you because you respect yourself enough to expect me to do the same for you._

_I love you because you suffer my imperfections and shortcomings with no complaint._

_I love you because you appreciate me…because no matter what happens, you're always by my side. Thank you for that, Ellacári. For never abandoning me._

_I love you because of who you are, Vanya-Nîn_ **| My Beautiful |**_…because you are the most selfless, beautiful, alluring, angelic, passionate, seraphic, enchanting, divine, hallowed soul I have ever met, and will ever meet. I think I fell in love that first second I laid eyes on you._

_I still remember it quite perfectly…it was the first time I ever came to Mirkwood. You were near the fountain in your father's private gardens, and I don't know if you even knew I was watching you. You quietly glided into the moonlight streaming through the trees, like a figmental goddess from the legends of Elbereth herself. Your golden hair fell across your shoulders, but you didn't even notice as you sunk down to the edge of the fountain, letting the folds of your gown skim the water as you gazed up at the stars. I would learn later that you despised that gown – despised every dress your father forced you to wear, which amused me greatly. You were stunning in it, but I would prefer you in blood stained armor any day._

_That night…you sat on the fountain and smiled at the moon. And in that moment, I forgot everything I ever knew…who I was…where I was…everything just disappeared after that tiny little smile._

_You cannot imagine how much power you have over me, even then. You intoxicate me more than any wine or ale ever could. Whenever I'm around you, I truly can't pay attention to anything else. Dozens of times I thought that you could hear my heart thumping out of my chest. But I was a coward, Ellacári…a foolish coward. I was desperately afraid that you would reject me, and because of that, I kept silent. I didn't want to needlessly ruin our friendship, which you seemed to cherish so much, because you didn't feel the same way about me. But I have decided that it doesn't matter anymore. The world might be ending in shadow and flame anyway, and I didn't want to die knowing that I was that close to telling you…that close to just freeing my heart._

_So there…I have done it. I will be able to sleep at night. Tonight…when I dream…I will dream of you, Vanya-Nîn…_

_Please be careful, Ellacári._

_Forever yours,_

_Elrohir Elrondian_

* * *

_Oh…my…how…Valar…is he…really…Elbereth…!_

My mind, as well as my thoughts, were in complete and total chaos. My heart was thumping in overtime as I read the letter over a second time. Then a third…then a fourth. At the fifth time, I finally convinced myself that I needed to stop, lest I explode from happiness.

I laughed quietly, although it sounded more like a sob. "Elbereth!" I whispered, falling back on the chaise heavily, the letter clutched to my chest. "Is this some cruel joke?! Is this really happening, or some vision sent to delude me?!"

"It seems that the Sun is shining for the first time in days…or have I just not noticed it until now?" I chuckled at the wistful, lovestruck sound of my voice.

I was in love…and he loved me back.

My longing was no longer unrequited…indeed, it appears that it never was.

Elrohir Elrondian loved me.

And as far as I was concerned, I was the happiest woman on Middle-Earth.

* * *

Translations –

**(1)** Minuialwen – Ellacári's friend. Name meaning "Dawn".

**(2)** Sam's song translated into Sindarin (by myself).

**Lá nírnaeth ceri maer – Lamentation will do us no good.  
**

**Hir-nîn – my Lord**

_Alla – Hail_

**Daro – Stop**

**Be iest lîn – According to your wish**

**Thranduiliel – Daughter of Thranduil**

**Elrondion – Son of Elrond**

**Melda Ellacári – Dear Ellacári**

**Gellon ned i galar i chent gîn ned i gladhog – I miss seeing your eyes shine when you laugh.**

**Vanya-nîn – My beautiful**

* * *

**Word-Count: 4,803**

**First of all, I know, ****really**** sappy ending. But I couldn't find out anything else to end with! *frowns***

**Now, my deepest and sincere apologies!**** I had no clue that this chapter was going to take so long to write! And I was doing so well with updating sooner…to tell you the truth, this was one of those "gosh, I really don't want to write it, but I have to" chapters. Some of it was fun…and when I read it over, some of it sounded good, and others just sounded choppy and bad. So, again, please forgive me if this chapter's not that good…the next couple will be better, I promise! (I'm looking forward to Boromir's death scene…woo hoo! And then, after that, it's fun, fun, fun!).**

**This is gonna be a pretty short A/N, because there's not that much to say. Again, there are some parts of this chapter that I'm satisfied with (the very beginning, & when she talks to Haldir in clearing), some that I really don't like (like Aragorn and Cári's "talk"), and then those that I'm not sure about (Galadriel's talk? Celeborn's talk?)**

**Ugh. Too much stuff! Brain overload!**

**Thanks guys, again, for sticking with me!**

**Please press that little button down there at the bottom – Reviews keep me alive!**

**Naamarie!**

**~CC. **


	14. Ripples Passing

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor have I ever, owned Lord of the Rings the book, or the movie. I am simply a wannabe, bowing down to the geniuses J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson. *grovels on floor* All recognizable characters belong to them—and the few characters in the chapter that I have made up, actually belong to me. *smiles***

**Hi everyone! Here is the last chapter of the Lothlórien section of this story! There's not much to say in this A/N: I've wiped out quite a few interactions in that last chapter (I felt like they were all squeezed together. *pouts*), so all I really want to get in is Gimli (I know, I haven't been establishing the dwarf-elf friendship very well so far…I promise I'll try!), Boromir, & maybe all of the hobbits. Ugh…that should be interesting (I seriously ****cannot**** write Frodo after Gandalf's death at all! He sounds too happy! ARGHH!)**

…'**K, here it is!**

Chapter 14 – Ripples Passing

* * *

"…**they do not count the running years. The passing seasons are but ripples ever repeated in the long, long stream. Yet beneath the Sun all things must wear to an end at last."**

**~ Legolas, "The Great River"**

* * *

"It has just occurred to me…how long has it been since we arrived in Lothlórien, Ellacári?"

I looked at the hobbit who had spoken, Pippin, with a raised eyebrow. Not because I thought his question was ridiculous: in fact, it was a very reasonable inquiry. I was simply surprised that he would have been able to think about _time_ at all.

Lothlórien – Caras Galadhon especially – had a special and magical quality, not unlike that in Imladris and Mirkwood, but simply greatly intensified. Time appeared to pass slowly and leisurely to the untrained eye of a mortal; but in reality, days, weeks, _months,_ sometimes, would speed by, imperceptible to the guests of Lothlórien.

Elves acknowledged this slow passing of time…yet most didn't care enough to share it with anyone else. Aragorn and I did not know how long Mithrandir expected to keep us here in Lothlórien, but we had both thusly agreed to wait until the worst part of winter had ended, and to speak not of time when around the rest of our companions. Let them believe that they could stay here forever…and I'm sure many of them, if not all, wished to.

Yet beneath the Sun, all things must wear to an end…even such magical places as Lothlórien.

So for those reasons, I hesitated before answering Pippin's question. "Longer than you may think, young one…all places of elvendom have inexplicable measures of time. Though, by my count, it is the 14th of February."

All the hobbits who were seated around a small clearing looked at me in surprise and awe. "We've been here a whole _month_?!" Sam squeaked out in a surprisingly high pitch. "Why hasn't anybody said anythin' to us?!"

I sighed softly, placing a light hand on the young hobbit's shoulders. "Calm down, Master Gamgee." I said in a purposefully lilting and very Elvish tone. He immediately relaxed (as he always did when in the presence of elves) as I reassured him once more. "Aragorn and I have simply wanted to wait until January was over and done with…the rivers beyond this forest are treacherous that time of year. In February, the river will be much more easy to navigate."

Samwise nodded in relief, and that seemed to be the end of it. Until I glanced over at Frodo, who was watching our lessons (I had been teaching the hobbits Sindarin), and he was gazing at me in disbelief.

_A month?_

His thought was so loud and laced with disbelief that I was shocked that I could even hear it without trying to at all. I glanced at him kindly. "Prestad, Frodo?" **| What's the matter, Frodo? |** I asked softly.

Frodo shook his head, raising his hand to pat his chest in a nonchalant manner. It may have escaped the notice of the hobbits, but it did not escape mine. _The Ring. _I glanced at him with pity, which he flinched away from.

He did not look back at me.

Two hours passed after that before Gimli and Boromir arrived at our comfortable alcove, talking in hushed and rough tones of which I only heard snippets of: a result of the purposeful mumbling.

"…yes, yes...I have noticed as well…" That was Gimli.

"…we must ask her…too late…" Boromir definitely.

"…but…will…upset, I'm…"

"…now…"

I grinned softly at their secretive tones. Didn't they realize that at any minute of any day I could have read every thought their mind ever had? I had chosen not to, instead granting my friends their privacy (although if Boromir continued looking at Frodo in such a way, I might just _bend_ those rules…).

The dwarf and the man walked up to our little class, and the man patted my shoulder. "Madam Greenleaf…"

I rolled my eyes. "Please, Boromir. Just Cári. Madam Greenleaf makes me sound like a tree."

Merry and Pippin chortled, while Sam and Frodo simply smiled in a small sense of mirth. I turned around just to see Boromir and Gimli blush slightly, before the dwarf asked, "Will ya talk to us for a minute?"

I shook my head to myself in disbelief, before saying to Frodo, "Will you continue helping them with those primers, Frodo? I will be right back."

Said hobbit nodded in wholehearted acceptance, and I rose carefully from my seat to drift to a small clearing away from the camp.

We walked a couple of meters before the two of my companions turned around and studied my face with curious expressions, ones that even I couldn't decipher. "Ah, Boromir? Gimli? What are you doing?"

Boromir and Gimli looked at each other, and nodded slightly. I wasn't getting nervous; simply curious. What could they possibly have to ask me?

The man took a deep breath. "Madam Gree…Cári. Who are you?"

I looked at them blankly for a second. "I'm sorry if my naiveté is surprising, but why in Elbereth's name would you ask that?"

Boromir and Gimli once again glanced at each other, as if my words were confirming their worst fears. I crossed my arms, glaring at them with my father's lectures echoing in my head. "Why are you asking me who I am? I've been with you on this fellowship for nearly 2 months, and you ask me _now_ who I am? Forgive me if I wasn't so frank at the Council!"

The two full grown warriors looked suspiciously like two children being scolded for a prank, as I glared at them in confusion and anger. "Well? Explain yourselves!"

The dwarf sighed gruffly. "I told ya she wouldn't take it well! Just like an elf to get offended at a simple question."

My eyes narrowed almost instinctually, before I finally considered the possibility that perhaps, they did not know who I was. They knew my name, of course, but the matter of _who_ I was? Probably not.

I sighed, releasing my built up rage as my face calmed. "I apologize…what do you seek of me?"

Boromir tilted his head. "Your last name?"

I raised my eyebrow. "Greenleaf, as you have just showed that you know…"

"No, no. You're _other_ last name. You know, the Elvish one!" The dwarf grumbled.

I rolled my eyes. "Thranduiliel. My name is Ellacári Thranduiliel."

Gimli raised his eyebrows, though seemed strangely resigned, and he didn't explode with rage when discovering I was Thranduil's daughter as I half-expected he would. Perhaps at the beginning of the journey, he would have had that reaction, but now…we had all grown closer after Mithrandir's death. It had taken the animosity out of our fellowship: facing imminent shadow and flame does that.

In contrast, Boromir looked absolutely clueless. "Thranduiliel?"

I rolled my eyes. "It means 'Daughter of Thranduil'. My father is King Thranduil of Mirkwood, and please, Boromir, do not look so surprised. I have enough of the bowing and 'if-you-pleasing' at home."

Boromir looked simply stunned. I rolled my eyes, intending to go back to the hobbits. "Is that all, gentlemen?"

Gimli shook his head franticly, grabbing my arm in restraint. "Wait, lass! If you're related to the king, then are you also related to—" he gulped nervously, suddenly sheepish, "—the Lady Galadriel?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Why would that matter?"

He glared up at me with curiosity and a new expression, as if he were seeing me for the first time. I sighed with exasperation. "Yes, Gimli…She is my grandfather's cousin, and thus my first cousin, twice removed. Although I suppose I'm more closely related to her, um, grandson…"

I swallowed, not liking where this conversation was going. If I so much as thought of Elrohir…the way his lips curved into a teasing grin, the lean, lithe muscles bulging in his shirt…_oh…I've got to stop now…_

I gulped, pulling back to present times and desperately attempting to stop a blush from creeping onto my cheeks. I laughed nervously (which came out like a pathetic chortle). "But there's really no resemblance…she's from a different lineage entirely, I'm not even considered a close relative of hers. Only as an…adoptive granddaughter, of sorts."

Boromir looked confused. "What do you mean?"

I groaned inwardly: why did I have to open that door? "After my mother died, I couldn't really stand to be in Mirkwood any longer. During the brief times that I wasn't killing orcs, I stayed in Caras Galadhon. The Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn took me in…became my mentors. I might have faded without them."

They looked the tiniest bit sympathetic, but still confused. "Fading? But elves are immortal."

The man said that with a wistful sigh that didn't escape my notice. I glanced sharply at him. "Do not be under the delusion, son of Gondor, that immortality is something that should be wished for. Mortals—" I sighed tiredly "—think that immortality is the greatest gift the Valar ever bestowed upon the Firstborn, and so are extremely jealous of us. But it is a lie. An illusion. Manwë cursed us, and I have no shame in saying so. Immortality is a burden…something that Man should be overjoyed to be relieved of. So easy to take your own life, to die…you have no idea how much of a blessing that is."

I had now begun whispering in hushed tones, and surprisingly, I wasn't able to stop. "…just a single drop of poison: a wrong mixture of the right herbs is all that it takes. Painlessly. Without the fear of failure. But elves are so much more different. We don't die. We can't die—unless we endure the most fatal, gruesome our loved ones die, we can fade from grief, simply stay so depressed, so angry for so long that you blow away like ashes in the wind…I was very close to fading, once. After my mother died, I came close. I almost chose to sail, when I traveled to Imladris for my supposed last time…when two young children came to Caras Galadhon, the new grandchildren of the lady Galadriel…Noldor twins by the name of Elladan and Elrohir…"

I looked back at them, shaking Gimli's now stunned hand off of my arm. "That is why my kinswoman, Arwen, is choosing a mortal life. It would be so much better to stay here, on Middle-Earth with Aragorn, and live one lifetime of Men, then to sail away and live a thousand lifetimes without him. Such a life is better than continually living behind a mask whilst your souls shatters into pieces. We are forever cursed to watch as the world changes and shifts and the fleeting lives of mortals come and go so quickly by our reckoning. Many think we are too arrogant, as you yourselves did when first coming to Rivendell. But can you blame us? How can we possibly form bonds with mortals knowing that in a blink of an eye, death will eventually seize them away from us?"

I had grown surprisingly angry during these few words that the two had spoken to me, and I did not know why. I had avoided speaking about immortality as such for a very long time: since Estel was 25, after Elrond had told him about his lineage. He had wished that he could be an elf, immortal, and eternal, but he had changed his mind after my stern conversation. He never asked me about it again.

"Why is it that elves always overreact when asked a simple question?!" Boromir grumbled angrily, nearly ending in a snarl. "'Immortality is a curse…' if it is such a burden, why do you not give it up?!"

I forced my face to become calm and stoic. I would not let my emotions shine through like that again. "Because that is not my chosen path, Son of Gondor. We all have destinies chosen by those greater than us…and denying that would be like trying to swim against rapids."

The man's whole body froze in fear. He slowly turned his head to face me. "That was exactly what _she_ said—in my mind…" I knew immediately whom he was speaking of. _Galadriel_.

I considered saying something among the lines of "great minds think alike", but decided against it. He would probably lunge at me if I used sarcasm, and I would truly regret having to break his arm.

"Perhaps you should listen, then. 'Tis good advice."

"And what if my destiny leads me away from those whom I love?"

I lowered my head. "Then those who love you will understand."

Quickly and without hesitation, I turned around, and disappeared from the clearing, returning to the hobbit's campsite and to the normal and rational world of grammar and language syntax.

* * *

"Are you close to her?"

I turned around slowly, already sensing the son of Gloín's presence behind me. "If you're speaking of whom I think you are, then your answer is yes."

Gimli rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "What are you, an oracle? I'm just asking you a question, lass."

Now I was the one to roll my eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry. You see, my father taught me my excellent manners."

Gimli glared slightly. "I didn't know that you were Thranduil's daughter at the Council. If I had, I probably would have lunged at you right then and there."

I laughed. "Ha. Like Ro, Dan, or Estel would allow you to get within a meter of me."

He raised an eyebrow quizzically

I sighed. "Elrohir, Elladan, the twin sons of Elrond, and Aragorn. That was his Elvish name, before he became a ranger." I laughed, softly. "Those were much better days, son of Gloín…ones I wish could return to this Middle-Earth."

I looked down in sadness. "Indeed, they probably never will."

Gimli looked at me with an indiscernible expression. "What do you think is going to happen, Ellacári?" I chuckled: that was the first time I had heard him say my name. "I don't know, Gimli. All I do know is that the war is going to come to Men, on all fronts…and the fate of the world is going to be decided by what we do. Here. Now."

I turned around to face him. "Elves and Dwarves have no further part here. Either way, with Sauron's victory or defeat, a new Dawn will come, and the Age of the Firstborn will be over."

I shook my head in amazement. "Do you know what my job is, Gimli? What Elbereth asks for me to do? She pleads with me to see _everything_. Always. Seeing war-ravaged land…and the few beautiful places in the world…it tears me apart. How could such a beautiful world turn to destruction so fast?"

Gimli looked away from my distressed face. I looked down at a small puddle on the forest floor, seeing much more than a simple reflection in the clear, glistening water. I chuckled suddenly. "But we are only minor characters in this great production: did you know that?" The dwarf still did not answer. "The course of the world will be decided by the actions of our companions…so who _are_ we compared to those who will end this, once and for all?"

Gimli finally shrugged. "I don't know lass; maybe we will be remembered as the only dwarf and elf that could stand each other's company for more than 5 minutes."

I laughed, the despairing thoughts drifting from my mind. "Ai, now that is an accomplishment."

He laughed along with me. _See everything…always. But would it really be that horrible to be blind for just a while?_

* * *

"Ai, Ellacári, I will miss you so much!" I was swooped up into tall, strong, lanky arms, with soft blonde strands tickling my cheek as my cousin pressed me close to his chest. "Must you really go so soon?"

I chuckled. "Haldir, it has been nearly a month. We're already behind schedule as it is!"

He sighed. "I know: 'tis a horrible fate that tears us apart so quickly." The Marchwarden released me from his comforting embrace, to gaze down at me with sad eyes. "Promise me you'll be safe, Cári."

I shrugged, winking playfully. "Now you know I cannot promise that: this is _me_ we're speaking of."

Haldir growled affectionately, throwing his arms around me again. "Haldir! I need to go find Estel!" He still didn't release me. "Haldir, please. I promise to be careful, okay? I swear to you I will be fine."

The brave, fearless Marchwarden of Lothlórien's shoulders sagged. "Ellacári…what if I never see you again?"

I growled, gripping my beloved friend and cousin tighter. "Stop it, Haldir. Do not think of such horrible things…that will not come to pass! And besides," I added more cheerfully, "how many times have I gone out on patrol and come back in one piece?"

He looked as if he would interject something, but I put my finger over his lips. "Don't answer that."

He chuckled, his expression just a bit lighter, and I pulled him into one last reassuring hug. "Now I really must get to the boats. We're already late…Haldir, I will be safe, I promise."

He gazed down at me with knowing eyes. He understood. There was no way I could possibly make that promise. Not for sure, anyway. There was always a chance.

"Give my regards to Minuialwen! I don't know where she is…" I frowned at the prospect of not seeing her again before departing, but Haldir quickly eased my fears in that reserved way of his. "Don't worry, selen-nîn. I will convey your goodbyes. Go! You must find the Lord and Lady before your departure!"

I nodded, kissing him on the cheek. "Naamarie **| Farewell |**, Haldir. The next time we meet, Sauron will be a vanquished foe: the villain of merely a legend!" I laughed confidently, being ridiculously heroic purposefully. Haldir chortled along with me. "Galu, maethor-nîn **| Good luck, my warrior |**…and for the Valar's sake—"

"I know! I know! I'll be safe!" I ran off into the forest, leaving my cousin behind in the trees.

* * *

"Never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people. May these cloaks help shield you from unfriendly eyes."

Lord Celeborn walked slowly over to me, wrapping the beautiful, lightweight cloak around my shoulders, and sealing the ends with a brooch. "And may your journey be safe and successful."

I lowered my head respectfully, coughing slightly to indicate I wanted to speak with him. "Milord…" I whispered. The Elda nodded in expectance. "May you please send this back to Imladris…as soon as possible would be preferred, but please wait until we've left the city."

I handed him a clean, white scroll sealed with the same blue ribbon as the letter I received (now tucked safely in my shirt, close to my heart). It had taken a longer time than I had originally thought it would to pen a response to my _beloved_ (I was delighted at how that term now applied to Elrohir). Whenever I tried to write…it came out falling completely short of what I had hoped for. What else could I have said besides "Yes! Yes! Of course I do! I always have!" And then I would have sounded like a besotted elfling (which my dignity would not have allowed).

I had tried to give it to Celeborn or Haldir before this moment, but had always changed my mind at the last minute: taking the coward's way out again and again. This way was much more final: I wouldn't be able to go back to tell Celeborn not to send it, and there would be no way to change it again (which would result in the further mangling of my already unrecognizable letter).

Lord Celeborn took the scroll, and, seeing the ribbon, nodded in satisfaction. I didn't have time to snatch it from his hand, before he tucked it into his robes (much to my mixed relief and horror).

My grandfather, now in more ways than one, kissed my forehead gently, whispering a final blessing. "Be strong, be brave, and don't look back, Ellacári Thranduiliel…"

I shivered slightly at his words, nodding in understanding. The Lord drifted away, disappearing back through the trees: to find Estel, no doubt. Some of the remaining Galadhrim spoke me in Sindarin (not wanting to worry the others) in hushed tones about the dangers they had seen recently near the shores of the Anduin: the newest species of orcs that did not detest sunlight.

When they spoke of _those_ new, hideous creatures, I growled softly, asking with contempt laced in every word, "Curunîr-na adel hi?" **| Is Saruman behind this? |**

A tall, bright elleth with auburn hair (uncommon for Sindar) nodded in confirmation. "Osán-mîn…" **| So we believe… |**

I cursed softly. Curunîr'spower had grown more than I had feared. If he had somehow created a new species of orcs…they would be infinitely more powerful than the mindless bands we knew.

I didn't have any more time to question the elves further, for at that moment, the Lady Galadriel drifted into the clearing (and Estel is _still_ not here! I thought, quite irked with said mortal). She smiled kindly at me, with a sincere affection that made my chest ache with the thought of leaving.

I bowed in respect again, but my lady would not have it. She tilted my chin up, resting something long and wooden in my hand. I looked down, and saw that it was a bow: a beautiful one, at that. It was magnificent in feel and sight, the long, elegant runes of ancient Quenya, my native language, adorning the strong, smooth limb. The string, which I examined closely for a moment, was golden…soft as cloth, yet strong and secure as the wood itself: a strand of elven hair, perhaps even Galadriel's own.

"My gift for you, Ellacári Thranduiliel…is a bow of the Galadhrim, worthy of the skill of you and your kin."

I gulped, my eyes pricking slightly, and began whispering a word of thanks. "Hannon le—"

The tall, beautiful elf shook her head, murmuring softly. "What else is there to give…to the woman who already holds my grandson's soul captive in her heart?"

To my horror, I blushed, praying to the Valar that none of my companions had heard this last comment.

She moved down the line, presenting two, beautifully made daggers to Merry and Pippin. "These are the daggers of the Noldor. They have already seen service in war."

I smiled fondly, for I recognized them. They were Elrohir and Elladan's daggers, which they had used on the raids we had gone on after Celebrian was sailed. I grimaced when remembering the cold and distant look in the normally cheerful twins' eyes, as they brutally killed orc after orc with their swords and daggers. _Service in war, indeed. Service in revenge, as well._

The Lady continued moving down the line of the fellowship, stopping at Sam in the middle. "And for you, Samwise Gamgee: Elven rope, made of hithlain."

Another smile broke out onto my face, at the generosity of the Lady's gifts. No one outside of those with elevated status in the hierarchy of the Galadhrim knew what hithlain truly was: all we knew was that it was very useful, strong, and reliable. Some suspected that it was Celeborn and Galadriel's hair, twirled into a thin, magical rope. But regardless of the material used, you would not fail if dependent on Elven rope.

Samwise murmured something resembling a thanks, before glancing over at the other hobbits, and saying hopefully and sheepishly, "Have you run out of those nice, shiny daggers?"

Galadriel simply smiled, moving onto Gimli at the other end of our line. She smiled kindly. "And what gift would a Dwarf ask of the Elves?"

Gimli blushed. "Nothing." Then he seemed to reconsider his words. "Except to look upon the Lady of the Galadhrim one last time, for she is fairer than all the jewels beneath the earth."

I almost laughed at his completely awed and reverent words: possibly the only Dwarf who respected any elf as such for a thousand years.

Galadriel giggled softly, smiling kindly at the flustered dwarf. If Gimli had such a respect and awestruck view of my lady, then he couldn't possibly be as bad as I originally believed.

I smiled, turning around and leaving Frodo, Gimli, and the rest with Lady Galadriel. _ Naamarie, milady. And incase we do not see each other again…hannon le, daerammë. Tenna enta lúmë… _**| thank you, grandmother. Until next we meet. |**

I walked through the forest softly, losing sight of the clearing. If the Lady of Light responded, her reply was lost in the breeze—because I did not look back.

* * *

"Cári, are we ready to depart?" My friend asked softly, as I loaded the last packages of lembas onto the boats.

As my gaze rose, I saw all of my companions gazing at me curiously, wondering why Aragorn had asked _me_ if we were ready. The elf that had been helping me load, Arandur – one of Celeborn's advisors, in fact – nodded in confirmation.

I touched his shoulder. "Hannon le, Arandur."

The tall elf (who in some ways reminded me of Glorfindel) smiled, pulling me into a brief hug. "Naamarie, ah galu na le ah meldir" **| Farewell, and good luck to you and your friends |**

I nodded, stepping from the small pier into mine and Gimli's boat. Arandur looked around at the trees, listening to things and whispers the rest of the fellowship could not hear. He nodded after a few minutes. "Now, Thranduiliel."

I turned to the forest, balancing easily on the boat, and concentrated. Whispering soft words spoken only by my ancestors and patrons, I held out my hands, letting the energy flow through them onto the forest. Before my companions' confused gazes, Arandur and the pier itself flickered slightly, fading into the background as if never there. The fellowship could only notice it with intense concentration, but only because we knew it was there: the servants of Sauron, such as Saruman's spies, orcs, or Gollum, would not see the entrance to the Golden Wood at all.

There was a silence amongst our fellowship as we floated there, motionless, on the Anduin, ready to continue the difficult journey ahead, and yet, not wanting to leave. Estel sighed, and whispered a small farewell. "Naamarie, Lothlórien…and the Lady of the Golden Wood."

Gimli grunted in agreement, and Estel met my eyes with one, fleeting glance. I took that as my cue to sit, and begin rowing. Estel, Frodo, and Sam went past us in their boat first (Sam looking curiously seasick already); and Boromir, Merry, and Pippin followed immediately afterward.

I didn't dare turn back to the watchful eyes of the advisor I knew were there. Instead, I listened as Gimli's cheerful, yet strangely melancholic chatter filled my ears, blocking out the beautiful melodies drifting down from the invisible city…still singing…ever lamenting…_always_ lamenting.

_Farewell, Lórien…_

"Ai! Laurië lassi súrien,  
Yéni úntimë ve rámar galadh!  
Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier  
Mi oromardi lisse-miruvóreva  
Andúnë pella Vardo tellumar  
Nu luini yassen tintilar I eleni…"

**| Alas! Like gold fall the leaves in the wind,  
Long years numberless as the wings of the trees!  
The long years have passed like swift draughts  
Of the sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the West,  
Beneath the vaults of Varda wherein the stars  
Tremble in the song of her voice… |**

* * *

Translations –

**Prestad, Frodo? – What's the matter, Frodo? (lit. Is there trouble, Frodo?)**

_**Naamarie – Farewell**_

**Galu, maethor-nîn – Good luck, my warrior**

**Curunîr-na adel hi? – Is Saruman behind this?**

**Osán-mîn – So we believe**

_Hannon le, daerammë. Tenna enta lúmë. _– _Thank you, grandmother. Until next we meet._

**Naamarie, ah galu na le ah meldir – Farewell, and good luck to you and your friends.**

* * *

**Word-Count: 4563**

**Hmm, I actually really liked the very end of this chappy. The beginning: not so much. But I can't really do anything to fix it.**

**Nothing much to say in this A/N. From now on, I'll really try to update sooner! I promise! I think it's actually getting easier as the story goes on (once we get to the Two Towers storyline, it'll go ****much**** faster!)**

**Thanks for sticking with me for so long! Really, it means a lot!**

**Naamarie.**

**~CC. **


	15. The Anduin

**Disclaimer: No recognizable characters or events belong to me: they all belong to their respective owners (*sobs*).**

**As a wise tree once said, there are no words in any of the tongues of Elves, Men, or Ents to describe the treachery committed here today. I am SO sorry that I haven't updated for like, weeks! It's astounding! Treacherous! Outrageously horrible! Horribly outrageous! (…and I can't think of any bigger words to use…heh heh). But the worst thing was that I actually ****finished**** the writing, and then, guess what? My computer crashed. So I was without internet for a really long time…until I got it fixed. Sorry! I know that everybody probably uses that excuse, but it's the truth!**

**To the anonymous reviewer "dilila": heh, now I won't give my plans away, but…let's just say that the chapter where the elves arrive at Helms Deep should be **_**very**_** fun to write—in more ways than one. *wink*.**

**Woo, now that that's over, let's get on with the story! This one's gonna be interesting...****  
**

Chapter 15 – The Anduin

* * *

"…**Fear not! Long have I desired to look upon the likenesses of Isildur and Anárion, my sires of old. Under their shadow, Elessar, the Elfstone, son of Arathorn of the House of Valandil Isildur's son, heir of Elendil, has nought to dread."**

**~ Aragorn, "The Great River"**

* * *

"I believe I have taken my worst wound at this parting, having looked my last upon that which is fairest. Henceforth, I will call nothing fair unless it be her gift to me."

Gimli – who was doing absolutely _nothing_ to help me row in our boat, might I add – continued his awestruck and monologue as I listened in brooding silence. So far, I had gone along with the fact that I knew exactly what he was talking about, fading in and out of the conversations, not truly listening, but after nearly an hour of this since we had departed from Lothlórien, my patience (and ears) could bear it no longer. "What did my grandmother give you?"

He sighed, meeting my confused gaze evenly, seeming overjoyed that I had asked. "I asked her for one hair from her golden head." He smiled, "She gave me three."

After a moment, I smiled as well, chuckling at the dwarf's expression. Only 2 months ago, I never would have imagined that I would be _smiling_ and _laughing_ with a dwarf: especially one whose father detests me. Ever since Attocaptured Thorin's little group of dwarves in Mirkwood such a long time ago, the dwarves had held a special, _furious_ part in their hearts for my father and myself: and all Elves in general.

But somehow, against all odds, I had become friends with this dwarf, Gimli, son of Glóin. It was under very special and unlikely circumstances, of course, but we had become friends, nonetheless.

Gimli himself interrupted me from my wanderings, startling me with a low chortle. I tilted my head in confusion. "It's strange…The Lady of Light – the most precious and fair woman ever to walk the Earth – is your relative. And all this time, I've been lookin' at you, and seeing nothing beyond that blank, arrogant mask you always keep on."

My eyebrows raised in surprise. "Gimli—"

"I'm not offering an apology 'er anything, but maybe I should've at least tried ta' see past that."

My expression didn't change. "See what? Gimli…I have had a long existence, and so far, I have concealed it quite well. Even if I hadn't been hiding, you wouldn't have been able to decipher the complex riddles that are my life. Please, prove me wrong if you can…but I sincerely doubt it."

I gestured with my hand once, before resuming my consistent rowing. Gimli's eyes narrowed in concentration. "Lass—"

I looked at him calmly, yet smugly: a challenge. He grumbled. "Okay, okay. Ah…you're a she-elf…an _elleth_, right? The daughter of the king of Mirkwood. Distant cousin of Lady Galadriel, and…you knew Aragorn and Gandalf before the Council. That much was obvious."

His beady eyes narrowed further. "You have some debatable and hardly noticeable magical abilities…although I can't really see what they are—" hmm, I was surprised that he had noticed, or even cared "—I don't know your age: but you can't be _that_ old. No more than a couple of centuries…you're only around 25 in appearance."

I laughed. "Looks can be deceiving, son of Glóin. You of all people should know this."

Gimli straightened, relieving himself of the broad axe by resting it on the bottom of the boat, and glared at me. "Then how old _are_ you?"

I winked. "Hmm…let's see…Ah!…I, Ellacári Greenleaf, am as old as the sum of the ages of the 2 oldest trees in Mirkwood."

Gimli gaped, and then growled in irritation. "I haven't been to Mirkwood, lass! Just tell me: and if you won't, maybe I'll get it from Aragorn."

My eyes flashed to his mirthful and devious face. "He wouldn't dare." He laughed. "Oh, I think he would, princess."

Before I could stop him, that infuriating dwarf called out across the small space of water separating the two other boats from ours. "Aragorn? Aragorn!"

Estel glanced over at the commotion Gimli was making, raising his eyebrows as he did so. Then he looked at me. "Ellacári, really. We have just started our journey again, and you have already done something to upset our dwarvish friend?"

I sputtered indignantly, forgetting temporarily about Gimli's impending question. "Estel! I would have never—"

I stopped, reconsidering. "Alright, maybe I _would_, but—"

Gimli shouted once again, ignoring my indignation. "Aragorn, surely you must know how old this elvish princess is?"

Aragorn raised his eyebrow at me, a smirk already plastered on his face. "Ellacári here—"

"Estel!"

He smirked, glancing at the quiet and bemused hobbits. "Master Hobbits: would you like to hear how old the only child of Thranduil is?"

Boromir chuckled lowly. "Can't be more than a century…she's so young…"

I scoffed. "You would be wise to reconsider that statement, _child_."

He glanced at me, highly indignant. "_Child_?! I am decades older than you!"

I shrugged, enjoying the casual banter amongst the serious journey thus far (we had only spoken in occasional low mutters since our departure from Lórien). "In appearance, perhaps! But not in actuality…"

Estel chuckled, and looked expectantly at the hobbits. I knew my argument was already lost: I had provoked their interest. _Valar help me. _Pippin looked at me curiously. "How old _are_ you, Cári?

I sputtered foolishly. "Well…I mean—I shouldn't—you wouldn't—it's not—"

Estel laughed. "My friends, this _child_ here, that we have in our company…is _far_ older than Lord Elrond…_and_ his father."

The man cocked his head, grinning smugly as he continued rowing. "You were there during the Last Alliance, were you not, mellon-nîn?"

I paused, considering if I should lie. In the end, I decided against it. "Yes…"

"And were you there during the Fall of Gondolin?"

I smiled triumphantly. "Now, for that I wasn't—"

Estel shook his head. "Oh—I apologize, it's my mistake. Let me rephrase that a bit: were you _alive_ during the Fall of Gondolin?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, knowing that he would know if I lied, and would expose the truth on top of that. Besides, it was no use now trying to hide my true age now. "Yes…" I grumbled.

Aragorn looked much too pleased with himself, so I casually stuck my hand into the water, spun it around in a circle a few times, and forced a small whirlpool up near the man's oar. Not strong enough to rip it from his hand, but powerful enough to keep him stuck there. He stared at the oar – non-comprehending – before turning to me with a glare. I smirked. "Cári…"

After a few seconds of tugging, I finally allowed the water to dissipate and for him to regain his oar. But not without one last splash of water for revenge. He scowled at me from beneath wet, limp locks of hair hanging over his face.

While still chuckling deviously, I finally thought to glance back at our companions, to see their reactions. Frodo was gazing up at me with something akin to awe. "The Fall of Gondolin…But that was in the First Age…" Samwise paled in the boat at that revelation, making his knuckles even whiter as he gripped the sides.

I chuckled lightly. "If it makes any difference, I was only a child when the city of Gondolin fell…but I do remember it. My father and mother took me there once, as a very young elfling…It was more beautiful than any place I have ever seen, and I have been alive for a _very_ long time. Morgoth—" I shuddered slightly at the name "—should never have gained access to that city. May Maeglin be cursed for millennia still for the treachery he committed…may he rot in Mandos's Halls for all I care."

My heart had grown cold at the thought of that cursed elf. Maeglin, the Lord of Gondolin's nephew. I had seen him in person a few times, before the Fall, and never forgot the way his eyes shone black in the full moon of the Winter Festival…like two cold voids of obsidian.

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts of that traitor. "While I do remember Gondolin, Galadriel, Celeborn, and maybe even my father could probably tell you more. I was only a few years old when I visited, and only a decade old when it fell." I shook my head again. "I do remember Maeglin, however."

Frodo's face, which had been dull and blank for the previous part of the journey, perked up even more at this. "Maeglin? You knew him?" I nodded grimly. "I met him once, at a festival the time my parents and I visited." I shuddered. "Even before he betrayed us…he wasn't kind or gentle. Just cold. I've never seen another elf that was as _unfeeling _as he had been. The complete opposite of his uncle."

I let my memories drift…watching the bright Anar set over the stone pulpits and towers of the Hidden City…one of my last memories of Gondolin. I sighed sadly, suddenly more focused on my rowing than before. "Lass—" I looked up, to see Gimli staring curiously at me, "—how old are you?"

I tried to chuckle, and seem lighthearted once again, but I somehow couldn't manage it. "I am the Princess of Mirkwood…I am 6,508 years old…and I did not learn wisdom in a day, Gimli." **(1)**

Gimli looked strangely at me for a few seconds, but he soon gave up: grudgingly picking up an oar with a few grumbles about "foolish elves". I glanced back at Estel, and the sad expression that had replaced the previous mirthful one immediately made me forgive him for his "subtlety". "Mellon-nîn…"

I smiled reassuringly at him, effectively interrupting his sentence, and not letting the Heir of Isildur see past my eyes. My companions should not be mourning the past: there had already been too much of that on this journey.

* * *

"Have some food, Mister Frodo." I distantly heard Samwise pleading with his friend, though from Frodo's reply, I doubted that he would make any progress with the hobbit.

"No, Sam."

"But you haven't eaten anything all day! You're not sleeping, either—don't think I haven't noticed. Mister Frodo—"

"I'm all right." The small Ringbearer muttered softly, attempting to assuage his companion's fears. "But you're not!" Sam sighed. "I'm here to help you, Mister Frodo. I promised Gandalf I would."

"You can't help me, Sam…not this time. Please; get some sleep."

And then, all was silent from the two. I shook my head in sorrow and frustration: Frodo was becoming more and more distant as time went on. Lothlórien was only a slight reprieve from the inevitable. Frodo would not emerge from this ordeal unchanged…that was for sure.

There was a slight rustling at the base of the oak. "You will take the watch tonight, Ellacári?" I nodded without dropping from the tree I was perched in. "Ai…you should sleep, Boromir. I can tell you have been troubled lately."

He noticeably stiffened behind me: the leaves shifted slightly. "Troubled? How so, princess?" A smile flickered across my face. "You know what I speak of, son of Gondor." He was quiet for a moment, before muttering (a whisper which I wasn't sure if I was supposed to hear or not). "And yet, you yourself do not worry: you're an elf. You would never be tempted by such things…" My smile disappeared, my mood somber once again. "No," I said. "But I am changed by its presence, just as you are. I am not a goddess, Boromir. I am merely an elf." Boromir was once again silent behind me, before muttering softly, "I must speak with Aragorn. Goodnight, Ellacári."

I sighed again as the warrior walked away, his nerves completely undone. "Ollo vae, Gondorian…" **| Sweet dreams, Gondorian |**

Boromir didn't stop walking, but I could tell from his suddenly relaxed stance that he understood the intention.

I shifted on the branch I was on, readying myself for the long night ahead. But it was then when I heard another voice, and realized that Boromir and another one of my companions were still awake.

"Aragorn." I stiffened, considering whether I should listen in or not. As much as I hated the idea of eavesdropping, it was just too tempting to pass up. And besides, it would most definitely be important if Boromir would bring it up while all the others were asleep.

Estel didn't say anything in response, so I presumed that he nodded when Boromir continued. "Minas Tirith is the safer road. You know it. From there, we can regroup…strike out for Mordor from a place of strength."

This time, my friend did reply. "There is no strength is Gondor that can avail us." _Not yet, at least._ I knew for sure that my friend's thoughts mirrored my own.

"You were quick enough to trust the Elves!" _Well, yes: because Lothlórien is __not__ only a few leagues from Sauron's fortress, and is probably the safest place left on Middle-Earth, next to Imladris._ "Have you so little faith in your own people?"

I could feel Estel's aggravation growing: it was nearly palpable, surely Boromir could see this. And yet…the man continued on. "Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty. But there is courage, also, and honor to be found in Men. But you will not see that!" Aragorn let out a barely perceptible sigh. "You are afraid!" Boromir hissed lowly. "All your life, you have hidden in the shadows. Scared of who you are…of what you are!"

I stiffened. Doesn't he realize how much Aragorn has had to go through? His whole life, for Valar's sake…the denial, the anger, the _fear_?

Aragorn was silent for a few seconds, and I wondered if he had wandered away, let go of the argument…but his absolutely furious voice (nearing a snarl) reached me clearly with my enhanced hearing. "I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city!"

This time it was Boromir who did not reply, instead choosing to create as much noise as possible in stomping over to his bedroll. Estel simply stood there. For a couple of minutes he did not move at all, but eventually he finally whispered (once Boromir's breathing had slowed), "Cári…I know you're up there…please come down."

I dropped down from the tree I had been hiding in, landing soundlessly next to an expectant ranger. "Estel."

He slowly turned around, looking at me with curious and searching eyes. "Estel?" I asked cautiously, now slightly worried. Had the argument with Boromir unnerved him that much? My friend shook his head in dismissal. "'Tis nothing. Just a foolish question."

I sighed. Why was this man always so stubborn? I took hold of his hand, pulling him back through the tree line, so as not to disturb the others. "Aragorn…you are being distant again."

Once we were in safe speaking distance, I stopped, looking at him expectantly. "Well? What is your so-called 'foolish question'?"

Estel sighed again, thinking deeply for a few moments before actually speaking. "Why? Why did you do it?"

I didn't have to ask him to elaborate much. "The Ring must be destroyed for Arda to be at peace again. You know this."

"And you think that it is a part of your responsibility to see this carried out." It wasn't a question: it was a statement.

"You do," I retorted softly. The man next to me stilled, and took on that pleading look of his whenever I tried to talk of his heritage (Arwen had managed some success…although even that was somewhat of a defeat). "Do not try to deny it, Estel. You believe that it is your responsibility because your ancestor was the one who failed in the task."

Aragorn was silent for a second, considering with narrowed eyes. "I knew Isildur, Est—" "I go to help Frodo." The ranger interrupted me, his tone sharpened with determination. "He needs help in achieving this task he has undertaken, and I will not allow a Halfling who has barely strayed from the Shire to face such trials alone."

I sighed, turning around so my back was to him. "I do not doubt your wish to help Frodo…for that was also a large part of why I chose to go myself." _Among other reasons…_ "And if he does have the strength to continue and finish this once and for all, he needs companions to protect and support him. You and I understand this. And yet—" I said, beginning to get to my point as I slowly spun around to look at him, "—you still refuse to acknowledge your guilt for the choices made by Isildur! Guilt, might I add, which is completely unfounded and ridiculous!"

Estel once more looked at me with pleading eyes, asking me silently to forgo this conversation for now, but I was determined. My friend had dodged this for far too long. "Aragorn—"

"Ellacári, I am of his blood." He stated heavily, as if the mere act of speaking the words weighed him down. "I am the last of that line. And because of that, the deeds that he failed to accomplish fall to me."

"Why?" I said, upset now. Why did he sound so hopeless? He was a lost king: not a thief being led to execution! _Isn't he the one who once bragged to me as a child that he was to be the bravest of all Men?_

Estel chuckled. "I thought I was the one asking that question." My expression didn't change, making it obvious that his attempt to steer me away from the subject was not successful. "His actions were not your own, Aragorn."

"Nay," the man said simply. "They were not. And yet, as a crown is passed from head to head, so are the responsibilities that go with it. You know this, Ellacári: you are the daughter of Thranduil!"

"Is that why you so fear claiming your destiny?" I hissed. "Are you scared of the responsibility?"

"I am well able to take care of myself and my burdens," Aragorn said, his irritation with me growing. "I do not need an Elven princess watching over my every move."

"Oh, I am well aware that you can survive without me," I replied coolly, sarcasm lacing my every word. "You have proven that _so many times_ over the years I have known you. Since it seems that you have _everything_ under control, I suppose I can just leave the Fellowship, yes?"

"Perhaps you _would_ do better in Mirkwood, or better yet, sailing to the West," Aragorn growled, a small note of pleading in his voice at the last point. I glared at him. "It would be better than being part of a near futile attempt to restore a lost king to a throne he does not want!" He finished.

I froze, my anger burning strongly and heated, and nearly blinding me with fury. I flashed a look at the slightly gasping ranger, and a _growl_ rumbled deep within my chest. "Is _that_ what you believe?" I asked dangerously, turning back around so I faced the man fully. "Is that what you think? That I went to protect the heir of Isildur? That I went out of a duty to a lost king?!" I hissed. "Valar, Aragorn! Does our friendship mean that little to you?!"

The man remained silent, looking at me with surprise, as if he were surprised that I would do anything for him!

I sighed, letting my anger drain out of my tense body. I gripped my friend's hands within my own, sighing tiredly, suddenly feeling the full weight of all my 6500 years drop down on top of me. "If you think that I go on this quest of almost certain death for Elessar, or Strider or Longshanks, or even Aragorn…then you are wrong. I go for _you_, my friend…my elen-gwanûr…for my Estel."

Aragorn in turn sighed deeply, the anger flowing out of him as well, and cupped my cheek in the palm of his hand. "Death is not certain, mellon-nîn…Sauron does not hold sway over this Earth so much that there is no hope. Not yet."

I smiled sadly. "Hope…Peculiar that Lord Elrond should name you that, Aragorn, but appropriate as well. You are the hope of men…the hope of the world." I looked into his stormy, grey eyes. "I have tried to help you bear this burden for many years now, Estel. And I will not leave you now."

We stayed in our embrace for a few more seconds, before I reluctantly broke my friend's gesture of comfort, and walked towards the tree from which I would watch. "You can sleep tonight, Aragorn. I will take the full watch."

An obviously exhausted Aragorn began to argue, but I pierced him with one of my father's glares, and, apparently, the mortal was too tired to resist (which was a victory all on its own). "Sleep, Aragorn. You will need the rest. And besides," I spun around to wink at the man, "I don't believe I will be able to sleep tonight. I need to think."

The mortal smirked, barely stifling a yawn. "You always need to think, Ellacári. You never _stop_ thinking."

I shrugged, leaping easily onto the high branches of the oak tree. "Do not change the subject, Estel. Promise me that you will get some sleep, and that you won't awake for the next watch." I purposefully fell to a lower branch as the man began to disagree. "Promise me?"

A low grunt sounded below me in the clearing, which I took as a yes. I smiled in triumph. "Hannon le."

Aragorn began to walk away to the camp where the others were, but I was not done with him yet. "And Estel?" He turned back around, looking at me questioningly. "I'm sorry."

Aragorn shook his head. "There is nothing to apologize for. You are right."

I grinned. "Iston." **| I know |**

Aragorn grumbled affectionately, trudging away from the clearing as I reclined in the tree, a smile gracing my lips.

* * *

"By all the Longbottom leaf…I never thought I would live to see a _canyon_!" Pippin breathed from his boat, a few feet away from me and Gimli's. Merry nodded in wholehearted agreement, gazing around at our surroundings. "It's huge!"

I must admit: it was an amazing sight, even if I had seen it before. Immeasurably tall walls of rock and stone towered above our heads, welcoming us to the waterfalls of Anduin, and to the end of our journey by boat. The tree line stopped abruptly a few hundred meters before the huge boulders began, piling up higher and higher until it melded into one, solid rock, even to my eyes.

And at the end of the canyon, lay a very reassuring and majestic sight. I glanced at Estel in the other boat, not surprised to see him smiling in pride and awe at the display of his kinsman's craftsmanship.

Two majestic statues proudly stood on each side of the great river. With their left hands held aloft, and their palms facing outwards in the gesture of warning, they bore the distinct ambience of the Kings of Men, making me unconsciously smile as we drifted closer and closer to the channel the two marked. Many of our Fellowship would not know who the statues represented, but Aragorn and I recognized them immediately. _Elendil and Isildur…_

I tilted my head as I gazed up at the statue of the latter. _Hm, yes. I do believe they captured his likeness quite well._

Estel tapped Frodo on his shoulder, saying to the hobbit (though, really, it was to all of us as well) in an awed and reverent voice, "Frodo, the Argonath! Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old…my kin."

I noticed that he hesitated slightly before saying the last bit, but that didn't diminish the man's smile. I grinned shamelessly, incredibly happy that my…_discussion _with Aragorn had gotten through. Maybe the heir of Isildur had a bit more hope than before.

I smiled again, having a small light of hope shining within me once again as we gazed at the Argonath. A song that Elendil himself had once sung drifted back from the depths of my mind as I let my thoughts wander, and the soft hums echoing within my chest soon became words.

"Et Eärello Endorenna, utúlien…  
Sinome maruvan, ar hildinyar,  
Tenn' ambar-metta…"

Aragorn, in the other boat, recognized the tune before the words had even begun to leave my mouth. He said the translation with a smile as I sang, not once paying attention to our awed companions.

"Out of the Great Sea, to Middle-Earth I come…  
In this place I will abide, and my heirs,  
Unto the ending of the world…"

* * *

We only needed to drift for a few more minutes before coming to the virtual end of the Anduin. That is, if you were to count the great, roaring waterfall spilling over the edge and nearly dragging our boats into the riptide as "the end".

Estel motioned for Gimli, Boromir and I to row as hard as we could to get to the shore, for if we were to be caught in the current, it would be extremely difficult to reach the land, if not impossible.

As we disembarked from the boats and first stepped onto the ground, I felt a cold shiver pass through my body, and my sensitive ears picked up some clatter a few miles east of here, though I couldn't quite place it. It wasn't that that was worrying me, however: it was the strange and dark foreboding throbbing in my head as the hobbits unloaded their things. _Could we have stopped in a worse place? No, wait, I probably shouldn't answer that._

"We cross the lake at nightfall." Aragorn said in a commanding tone, interrupting me from my thoughts as he helped Boromir and I pull up the boats onto the shore. We really didn't need three people though: the wood was that of Lothlórien, and therefore incredibly lightweight. "Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the north."

"Oh, yes?" Gimli snorted, sitting on a rock just outside of the tree line next to Merry and Pippin. "Is that it? Just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil?" I didn't interject at all during Gimli's long rant that followed, instead, choosing to watch Boromir's tense and troubled form drop some packs of lembas on the ground heavily. That man was starting to worry me, for whenever he was around Frodo, the Gondorian did not take on the serious, yet with a hint of playful side he always did when around Merry and Pippin.

"An impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks!" Gimli continued in a very exaggerated tone. "And after that, it gets even better! Festering, stinking marshlands, far as the eye can see." Ah, yes, _this_ was the Gimli who had started out on this Quest: this was the son of Glóin, the one whom had not yet laid eyes on the Lady of Light.

"That is our road. I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf." Aragorn said coolly, not breaking stride as he continued to unload some packs alongside me. "Recover my…?!" Gimli stuttered in irritated shock at the ranger's response to his complaints, and I smiled smugly: for a moment, anyway.

Dark mutterings once again entered my thoughts and ears as I scanned the opposite shore and the woods beyond it. I attempted to see past the shadows; the brooding, somber statues sending shivers across my neck, but could not manage it.

Something horrible was going to happen here, I could feel it in my bones. Just like I foreshadowed Mithrandir's fall in Moria, I was anticipating something here.

I grabbed Estel's arm from behind me before he could move past, looking at him sternly. "We should leave now." I enunciated the "now" in that sentence, making sure my point was clear.

"No, Cári. Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for cover of darkness."

I glanced at the man, drawing my searching gaze back to the dark forest. "It is not the eastern shore that worries me." Aragorn looking at me with a furrowed brow, confused. "A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind, ever since we sailed past the Argonath. Something draws near…I can feel it, Aragorn."

I didn't bother to catch my friend's expression at that warning: I was too busy futilely searching the shadows on the opposite bank. My gaze continued to wander to the brooding statue of a ghostlike woman, nestled among the needles of the dark trees. _Even the trees here aren't kind. They're distant…dark…hostile. It's not right._

Gimli, on the other side of the Fellowship, continued muttering about Aragorn's apparent insult. "…need to recover my strength…how ridiculous…! Pay no heed to that, Master Hobbit."

He said this last bit directed at Merry, who wasn't paying the least bit of attention. He was instead looking for a very key member of our companions. "Where's Frodo?"

Dread made my stomach sink as my gaze flickered across the camp, searching desperately for the hobbit that carried the fate of us all. He was nowhere to be found. Samwise began to panic, his eyes searching across the camp like mine had for his master.

Estel slowly turned his head to a certain tree where I was _sure_ the Gondorian had been just moments before. I could tell from his tense shoulders that he was dreading the thing he suspected…the one thing that we all didn't want to admit.

Frodo was gone…and so was Boromir.

* * *

Translations –

**(1)** Ellacári was born in 501 of the First Age (making her 6,508 years old)

**Ollo vae – Sweet dreams**

**Iston – I know**

* * *

**Word-Count: 4,949**

**Fhew! I am finally done with this chapter! *wipes forehead* Thank god, I thought I'd never finish it…**

**To all those who reviewed, thank you so much! Reviews are wonderful: I love them, even when it's criticism. So please—press that little button at the bottom of this page and write a review, even if it's only one word! Remember that I accept anonymous reviews as well.**

**Anyway, a lot of this chapter was me debating on what Ellacári's age should be (since Legolas's isn't mentioned in the book, I decided on a little bit older than Earendil's), and if I should include the argument between Cári and Aragorn. I'd like to think that throughout all this, the Ring is affecting everyone in some ways, not just Boromir (because that makes him seem weak, and I don't believe that Boromir is a weak character, he just had a different kind of strength). Even though I didn't say it, I hope it's kind of implied that the Ring was influencing the rage and anger Ellacári and Aragorn were feeling while arguing (though they obviously kept it under control).**

**The story of Gondolin is written in detail in the Silmarillion (which, I promise, I will read…eventually…but for now, I just have to use Tolkien websites/forums). For those who don't know, I will basically sum it up for you now: a kind old man named Lord Turgon built the city of Gondolin hidden from the Dark Lord Melkor (otherwise known as Morgoth) some time in the First Age. Many Sindar and Noldor elves moved there and lived there for 4 centuries, but then betrayal struck. Maeglin, Turgon's nephew, gave up the location of the city to Morgoth after being promised by said Dark Lord a woman whom he desired. Morgoth sent an army to attack during a festival, and the city was caught unawares. Many dark evil servants were sent to the raid: including Balrogs, one of which Lord Glorfindel (as in, **_**the**_** Lord Glorfindel) slew.**

**Yep, that's basically the short version. But I'll stop babbling now. The next one is the big action sequence, and the "Breaking of the Fellowship". *sniffle* Then onto the Two Towers, which will be SO much more fun to write!**

**Naamarie!**

**~CC. **


	16. The Breaking of the Fellowship

**Disclaimer: I don't own any recognizable characters: They all belong to their respective owners (a.k.a. the geniuses that are Tolkien & Jackson).**

**Mae govannan, everyone! First of all, so sorry that I haven't updated. I've got a lot going on with school, and I'm sure a lot of people know how it is when the real world interferes with your fantasies. *pouts* But anyway, this is going to be a quite sad chapter (at least, I'm gonna try to make it sad…): heh, it's another death sequence. *whimper***

**Before I begin, I just wanna address a couple of anonymous reviews.**

**To "red" – thanks for your support! I am currently 13 (and I'm not uncomfortable saying that, 'cause none of my readers are stalkers! …right? Heh heh…*looks around nervously*), but thank you so much for saying that I write like an adult…heh, kinda strange hearing that. *smiles***

**Ok, here we go…**

Chapter 16 – The Breaking of the Fellowship

* * *

"…**Miserable trickster…Let me get my hands on you! Now I see your mind. You will take the Ring to Sauron and sell us all. You have only waited your chance to leave us all in the lurch. Curse you and all Halflings to death and darkness!"**

**~ Boromir, "The Breaking of the Fellowship"**

* * *

_Not Boromir. Not Boromir. He would not do this: he wouldn't give in! He is strong…he must be. _I thoughtspoke to my best friend beside me, as the rest of our fellowship looked on with dread at the pack: and wondered about it's missing owner.

Pippin asked the big, unspoken question a few moments after our realization. "You don't think he…?" He let the inquiry hang for a handful of seconds, and we allowed it to.

Five seconds passed, five trickles of an hourglass, before we all simultaneously moved into action. With a flash of brown and gold, Estel and I leapt towards are discarded weapons and bags, preparing for search and battle, if need be, in hardly any time at all. Sam stood quickly, and, not really realizing how dangerous the situation really was, took off into the trees with no hesitation. "Sam!" I called after him, making to follow. But Estel grabbed my arm. "He is safe! The orcs have not yet reached this bank, and we will find Boromir faster!"

I thought for a split-second the mortal's logic, before nodding reluctantly, and turning towards the trees. Gimli had managed to grab his axe and relieve himself of all heavy equipment (I can imagine that he foresaw much running in his future), jogging up next to us. Somehow, Merry and Pippin had disappeared along with Sam. _Damn. This Fellowship is falling apart very, very fast…_

I put my hand out, concentrating all of my power on the woods beyond. I extended my senses, listening and feeling very carefully. What I saw disgusted me. Orcs. Damn.

"Orcs!" I spat, glancing at Aragorn. He didn't have to speak his next question aloud. "Northwest from here. They're heading south: towards the summit of Amon Hen. I cannot see Frodo or Boromir yet." The words flew out of my mouth at astonishing speed, and from Gimli's confused, yet determined look, I could tell he understood little of what I had said. I didn't bother clarifying.

"They're bound to be somewhere southwest of here…near the thrones…wait! I see something…!"

A vision struck me head on (making my forehead throb painfully), but I only had a couple of seconds to watch the events.

Boromir was speaking to Frodo in harsh tones, somewhere in the woods beyond: I couldn't tell where specifically. "What chance do you think you have? They will find you! They will take the Ring, and you will beg for death before the end…!"

The vision flickered suddenly again, and I caught a glimpse of a familiar clearing. One which I had journeyed through many times when visiting Gondor. It was not far from the summit of Amon Hen: I had been correct.

"There!" I shouted, pointing towards the general direction of the confrontation, where Boromir and Frodo's argument would surely meet up with the band of orcs. This was going to be interesting.

"Gimli!" Aragorn shouted, as he and I dashed towards the woods with no hesitation. As Gimli's labored pants began behind our fast forms, I extended my sight once again, praying desperately that I would be able to see more of Boromir and Frodo. My prayers were answered (to an extent).

"You fool! It is not yours, save by unhappy chance. It could have been mine! It should be mine! Give it to me!" By this point, Boromir had tackled the Ringbearer to the ground, wrestling with him viciously. Just as I attempted to watch further, the sight flickered again, this time, filling my mind with a big, fiery red eye. _Sauron…_

_LEAVE HERE, SHE-ELF…!_

I gasped, skidding to a halt as the loud, brutal shriek echoed in my head. Frodo and Boromir had completely disappeared from my mind, and now I could hear the band of orcs to our right. Aragorn and Gimli stopped alongside me. "Cári!" Estel hissed at me, his frantic eyes darting around like a trapped animal.

"Estel, Frodo must have put it on…I can't see him anymore. Go! Find him: I will distract the orcs!" Aragorn looked as if he was going to argue, but I quickly interrupted him. "Go!"

Thankfully the man took my advice, and I don't believe that he realized my command had a double intent. If this fight went badly…

When I had pledged my life at the Council all those months ago, it wasn't just to Frodo. I _would_ die for Aragorn if the need arose.

"Gimli…" "It's no use, lass. I'm staying here."

I sighed, though couldn't fight a slight grin from spreading onto my face. "Stubborn dwarf." "Stupid elf."

I drew my bow, setting an unfamiliar, yet strangely naturally feeling green and gold fletched arrow into the bowstring. Some small voice reminded me in the back of my head that this was the first time I was using the bow of Lothlórien, and as I took aim at the first orc to break the clearing, I knew, without a doubt, that I would not miss.

With hardly a whisper in the wind, the arrow was released, hitting the creature with a dry thump, killing it instantly. Roars echoed throughout the clearing, but they were not as numbered as they appeared. _There were more than this…I saw a band more than triple this size!_

The orcs themselves were different from the mindless, disbanded assortments I was used to. These seemed to be some sort of _mixture_ of orcs and goblins. They were bigger, stronger, and had attacked in pure daylight. _Fascinating…these new creatures Curunîr has spawned._

I fired six more arrows, killing six more orcs instantly. But as soon as I dispatched the last orc, I realized that the clearing had gone silent. Gimli, who had killed five himself, made to continue into the forest, but I clamped a hand over his shoulder. "Wait!" I hissed, pulling the irritated dwarf back roughly.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the forest surrounding us. Hesitantly (still slightly unnerved from my encounter with the Eye), I searched for any sign of our companions, praying for Elbereth's light to guide me. Further northwest of our position, more orcs were running, but not just in one total group. They were flanking us.

"Faica umbar!" **| Dammit |** I cursed, turning us directly around to head south, towards Amon Hen. Gimli followed me without question (of which I was greatly surprised), panting lightly as he attempted to keep up with me. "Lass! Where are ya' goin'?"

I shook my head, trying desperately to hear Estel's voice in the distance. "That was only a small group! Saruman would have not sent that little to capture the Ring! They split up!" Understanding came over the dwarf's face, and, if possible, he ran a little bit faster.

We broke through the trees, arriving at the throne (with a small, lingering trace of Frodo and the Ring, I noticed absently), just as Aragorn let out a warrior cry of, "Elendil!"

Just as Aragorn's sword landed a blow onto an arriving orc, Gimli swung his axe at another, and I fired two arrows in rapid succession. Aragorn quickly decapitated an orc, but before he turned around to deal with another quickly approaching, I spun about, stabbing one behind the man in the same motion.

Fighting alongside my friend for the first time in what felt like years (which, in reality, was only a short month) was exhilarating, considering the circumstance. My mind was completely in synchronization with his: I ducked, he swung, and I stabbed. Even when we were meters away, I was fully aware of his every move. We were dancing a dangerous and deadly waltz with these creations of Curunîr's…and as two minutes ticked by, with not one of us seriously injured (Gimli with only a small flesh wound, and myself with a nick to my cheek), it dawned on me that we were slowly outmatching them.

The orcs had pushed us into deeper forest, farther south then Amon Hen. This I thanked Elbereth for (though I'm sure that Gimli was cursing it at the same time): I had grown up fighting orcs in darker forests than this. I would have the upper hand in tree cover.

I had just slain an orc trying to throttle Estel when the deep, unmistakable sound of a horn blasted throughout our clearing. Aragorn, Gimli, and I all stopped at exactly the same time, frozen in something akin to horror. "The Horn of Gondor…" I said, my eyes flashing towards the woods to the south. "Boromir!" Estel said, rushing past me without heeding my unspoken warning.

Unfortunately, the orcs were not very forgiving to our plight. Time resumed around Gimli and me with a crash, and I just barely managed to parry a scimitar blow to my skull as I pivoted around on my toe, pulling out my knives as I did so. Gimli and I separated slightly to other sides of the trees, resuming the frenzied fight we had somehow gotten mixed up in. _When my father hears of this, he will surely kill me: if I don't die in this battle, that is. _I thought with a mixture of dread and amusement of my (hopefully) eventual reunion with Thranduil. _It'll be even worse when he hears about Moria…_

I saw Gimli swing his axe one last time to my right, and as I decapitated a nearby orc, the clearing fell silent. It had been just over five minutes since Estel left us to find Boromir. "Where are they?" Gimli muttered, trying to hide his labored breathes, out of pride or reassurance that he could go on, I do not know. I cocked my head south. "This way…we may not be too late."

Once again, the son of Glóin and I ran through the forest: his heavy footsteps thumping behind me, while my own feet making no audible sound. What a pair we made.

As we neared another clearing, the same one I had seen in my first vision, I began to make out a small hushed conversation with my perceptive hearing. "…you, my brother; my captain …" "No!" I growled…even from this distance I could feel Boromir's feä slipping away to the Halls of Mandos. "Yána hon…yána hon…saes…" **| Spare him…spare him…please… | **I muttered under my breath a slight prayer to the Lord of the Fallen, though as we drew closer and closer, it was obvious that my attempts were useless. It was over. Boromir was gone.

Gimli and I skidded to an abrupt halt a few meters behind Aragorn's bent head, and Boromir's silent and pale body. Three arrows stuck out from the man's chest, and I inhaled sharply, horrified. How the son of Gondor had even stayed alive that long, I did not know. The band of orcs' scent had now disappeared, and was beginning to fade. I could neither see, nor hear where any of the hobbits were.

Out of the Nine Walkers that departed from Imladris…two of us were dead, four missing, and now, only three left.

Aragorn sighed wearily, rising to his feet but not turning around to face us. In a deep, sad and tired tone, he spoke. "They will look for his coming from the White Tower. But he will not return."

I sighed heavily, before bowing my head. "Naamarie, Boromir…ar alámenë…" **| Farewell, Boromir…and go with our blessings |** I breathed a silent prayer for my fallen friend. For that was indeed what Boromir had become, regardless of his last actions with Frodo and the Ring. He had died bravely and honorably, and other than that, we could ask for no more.

I walked sadly forward, Gimli following to stand at our side, and rested my hand on Estel's shoulder. As we stood in front of him, I waved my hand gently over Boromir's face. His eyes closed on command. "Boromir, son of Denethor's soul will find its way unhindered to the Halls of Mandos…his spirit has been blessed." That much was true. Boromir's soul would rest at the Halls, every waiting and watchful, until the ending of the world, and the beginning of the Second Song.

"He will be at peace."

* * *

After I had quickly healed Aragorn's wound from his fight with the orcs' leader, the three of us agreed that we did not have time to bury him. Furthermore, none of us wanted to cremate our loyal comrade. The only honorable and quick way to…_dispose_ of the body was to send the warrior down the river.

For the next few minutes, we prepared Boromir to be sent into the west. I emptied Merry and Pippin's boat, the one that he had rowed himself, and lined it with his defeated enemies' weapons, while Aragorn and Gimli carried Boromir and lay him gently inside the boat. It looked as if he were simply sleeping.

I bit my lip and blinked my eyes heavily to stop my tears as Estel pushed the boat into the Anduin's strong current. The waterfall roared loudly in front of us as Gimli, Aragorn, and I, the only three left of the Fellowship of the Ring, watched Boromir, the son of Gondor, plummet down the Falls of Rauros. He disappeared from our eyes, and the crashing of the water below muted any sound the boat might have made as it crashed down onto the rocks.

Aragorn sighed beside me, muttering something so softly that not even I could hear what was said. We all turned around quickly, desperate to be rid of the sight. Estel then picked up Boromir's vambraces, the two things he had saved, and snapped them onto his own arms. Gimli didn't object; nor did I. It was what Boromir would have wanted.

I turned towards the eastern shore, ignoring the still dark mutterings echoing in the back of my mind. I saw Frodo and Sam, the two brave Halflings, running into the woods on the opposite side of the bank, looking very sneaky as they did so.

Running to a boat, I pushed it into the water and prepared to board. "Hurry! Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore! We might—" I turned around, looking at Gimli and Aragorn's still forms with surprise and confusion. One look at Estel's expression was all I needed to see his intention. "You mean not to follow them." It was not a question, but a statement.

Aragorn shook his head reluctantly, gazing at the disappearing hobbits adjacent us. "Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands." I looked back at the eastern shore, still shocked and confused as to what this meant.

"Then it has all been in vain!" Gimli grumbled melancholic, describing my emotions perfectly. "The Fellowship has failed."

The dwarf and I looked to Aragorn, all of us now standing in a triangle. Estel's head was slumped in defeat for a moment, before it lifted suddenly, his eyes filled with sparkling resolve. I raised an eyebrow in amused suspicion.

The Heir of Isildur took a step closer to us, putting his hands on our shoulders. "Not if we hold true to each other." He was now smirking at us, a determined look replacing the forlorn one. "We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we still have strength left." I smiled reassuringly, yet still perplexed as Estel's eyes met mine.

Aragorn turned around, breaking eye contact with us. Gimli and I looked at each other, rather confused by this sudden turn of events. "Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light—" My friend turned to us with a mischievous grin. "—let's hunt some orc."

And Aragorn, son of Arathorn, spun around, and ran into the forest. Gimli and I looked at each other for a split-second, before grins broke out on our faces. Gimli shouted something in triumph (which sounded vaguely like a "Yes!"), and I smirked at the thought of more battle.

_You are a very disturbed woman…_ A small voice echoed in the back of my head. I laughed as Gimli and I took off after Aragorn, the exhilarating feeling of wind whipping past my hair making me forget about my previously grievous mood.

_And so it begins._

* * *

Translations –

_Faica umbar – Dammit (lit. Poor fate)_

_Yána hon…yána hon…saes… – Spare him…spare him…please…_

_Naamarie, Boromir, ar alámenë – Farewell, Boromir…and go with our blessings_

* * *

**Word-Count: 2,698**

**Sorry for the short update, and the long wait! Again, a lot of things happening in school, and I just haven't found the time. Anyway, since we have now moved on to the Two Towers (yay! My favorite book & movie!), I'll be posting like crazy!**

**I thought it appropriate for this story for Gimli and Cári to be absent when Boromir actually dies. In the movie, they're just standing there, watching him die…and I thought that since her powers would allow her to heal wounds, she could, in fact, heal Boromir if she got to him in time. That will also let me make her feel even **_**guiltier**_** over his death! Ahh…I do love putting my characters through emotional torment! Hee hee!**

**Thanks for all the reviews! Love you guys!**

**Naamarie!**

**~CC. **


	17. To Chase the Malevolent

**Disclaimer – I do not own, nor claim to own, any recognizable characters or elements of this story. They solely belong to Tolkien Enterprises, Peter Jackson, and New Line Cinema.**

**Hi everybody! Looks like I'm getting in a chapter during the holiday season! Happy Holidays to everyone! This is my present to you (and such a sacrifice it was: if I get carpal tunnel…). Thank you, to everybody, who has supported me over these months!**

"**Red/Dilila" – Wow, that's awesome! It's really great to know that I'm not the only 13 year old that reads Lord of the Rings! *smiles* I hope you're both happy with this chapter!**

**Alright guys, we have officially moved on to the Two Towers! Yay! My favorite book and movie (as I've said about a million times…)! Here we go…**

Chapter 17 – To Chase the Malevolent

* * *

"**With hope or without hope we will follow the trail of our enemies. And woe to them, if we prove the swifter! We will make such a chase as shall be accounted a marvel among the Three Kindreds: Elves, Dwarves, and Men. Forth the Three Hunters!"**

**~ Aragorn, "The Departure of Boromir"**

* * *

…_What news from the South, O sighing wind, do you bring me at eve?  
__Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve…  
_…_O Boromir! Beyond the gate the seaward road runs south.  
__But you came not with wailing gulls from the grey sea's mouth…__  
_

"…Their pace has quickened…"

…_What news from the North, O mighty wind, do you bring me today?  
__What news of Boromir the Bold? For he is long away…  
_…_O Boromir! The Tower Guard shall ever northward gaze.  
__To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days…__  
_

"…they must have caught our scent…Hurry!"

I was startled from my "dreams" by Aragorn's shout of encouragement, and Gimli's extremely loud panting (not to mention the loud axe banging against his armor every time the dwarf moved). My eyes focused once more on the plains before us, more refreshed than I had been a few minutes ago.

I was actually more fortunate than my two companions: Gimli, son of Glóin, and Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Heir to the Throne of Gondor. Elves can, in fact, sleep while standing…and even while running. In truth, we do not really _sleep_, per se, but walk in the realms of Elven dreams and distant memories of the past.

My rest had only been for a few minutes whilst Estel listened for the Uruk-hai's trail. During this trip, his ranger skills and my elvish abilities had been used prominently: without them, we probably would never have known which direction they were traveling. The orcs we were following, that is – but then again, "orcs" is quite a relative term.

Uruk-hai was the name given to Aragorn by Lord Celeborn, after he had spoken to the Elda at our departure from Lothlórien. It means "Orc-Folk", although I believe that to be an understatement. They are creatures made by the traitorous wizard Curunîr: ones that can travel in daytime unhindered by sunlight, and are nearly twice the size with twice the stamina.

And so here we are: a Man (the last descendent of Isildur, no less), a Dwarf (the son of my father's enemy), and an Elf (me, Ellacári, daughter of King Thranduil of Mirkwood). The Three Hunters: following a band of Uruks to rescue two Halflings. Meriadoc Brandybuck and Perregrin Took. In our wake, we left Boromir, son of Denethor; and Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim – both deceased. Also Frodo, the Ringbearer, along with Samwise Gamgee – who were traveling on a suicidal mission to defeat the Dark Lord Sauron.

As you can imagine, I was certainly beginning to ask myself the golden question: _How_, in Elbereth's name, did I end up here?

"Mellon-nîn?" I turned to Estel, my best friend for nearly 84 years now. A determination and fire lay smoldering in his eyes, and I couldn't help but smile. Who needed normality anyway? I am an elleth whose best friends are a dwarf and a man: there was no reason to be rational…irrationality is healthy, as is adventure…

Ah, who am I kidding? That's completely ridiculous!

And so, instead of shouting about how my life was incredibly abnormal at this point in time, I simply grinned, continuing to run after the man. "Come on, Gimli!" I shouted behind me at the trailing dwarf.

Gimli Glóinsson made a noise that sounded vaguely like a growl, but followed Aragorn and I anyway. After muttering to himself in Dwarvish, he responded to me halfheartedly, attempting (with little success) to catch his breath. "Three days and nights pursuit. No food, no rest, and no sign of our quarry but what bare rock can tell!"

I chuckled, shouting back a reply. "I would've thought you'd have gotten used to our exploits by now, Elvellon." **| Elf-friend |**

Gimli, who was now used to the name I had begun calling him, growled again, but sped up his pace nevertheless. "Mistress Elf: I swear to you, as long as I live, I will never grow used to our 'exploits', as you call them – even though that's an understatement if I ever heard one!"

Aragorn laughed in front of us, and I once again thanked the Valar for our light mood on the second part of our quest. Boromir's death had threatened to consume my companions with grief. Two of my friends, one new and the other old, were dead, and four were currently missing. Before our new mission and objective, I had been considering just going home: giving up. Fighting Sauron as Captain of the Guard rather than one of the Three Hunters. But now it seemed like such an impossible course of action: to go back to Mirkwood while Sauron still existed. Either way, I would see this through to the end – and whatever end that may be.

* * *

We flew across the plains of what I could vaguely make out as either southwest Rhovanion, or southeast Eriador. Aragorn and I would be able to make out the borders of Rohan when we came to it – I had been there many times, millennia before Estel was even born. I remembered the current King's ancestor fondly: a man named Eorl. I had helped the man pass through Mirkwood, and subsequently Lothlórien many millennia ago **(1)**, and I was looking forward to meeting the descendent of the honorable man.

But I was again jolted from my musings and memories by a certain ranger, who suddenly stopped in the middle of a narrow valley, crouching down to the ground. I skidded to a halt in front of him, as he lifted an object from the firmly-packed mud, holding it in the palm of his hand. I discerned it as one of the leaf brooches we had received from Lord Celeborn: only a member of the Fellowship would have it.

"Not idly to the leaves of Lórien fall…" Estel looked at me with a message clear in his eyes. I nodded agreement. "They may yet be alive."

"Yes…less than a day ahead of us. Come!" The two of us powered on with more speed, and I just barely remembered to call back to our stumbling and exhausted dwarvish friend. "Come, Gimli! We're gaining on them!"

Gimli, for his part, kept on muttering in between pants. "I'm wasted on cross-country, lass! We dwarves are natural sprinters—" a few more huffs came from behind me, "—very dangerous over short distances."

_Oh, I'm sure they are._ I had a biting retort already on the edge of my lips when the three of us came over a hill, and I stopped abruptly, forgetting all about Gimli and my comeback. Stretched out before us, was the landmark I had been waiting for: the plains of Rohan.

Aragorn, Gimli, and I gazed out on the vast plains in awe. "Rohan. Home of the horse-lords…" Estel announced in a plain tone, which soon became confused. "There's something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures…sets it's will against us."

I narrowed my eyes, concentrating on the surrounding land. Yes…Aragorn was indeed correct. Evil lay here; slightly dormant and subtle, but it was there nonetheless. This had to be the work of Curunîr. To confirm my suspicions, I leapt nimbly from the hill to the plains approximately ten meters below, perching myself on a boulder. "Ellacári! What do your elf eyes see?"

My vision zoomed forward at lightning speed, showing me signs unnoticeable to mortal (and dwarvish) eyes. "The Uruks turn northwest…they're taking the Hobbits to Isengard!" I spun around meeting Aragorn's eyes. "Saruman…" the mortal growled out, his face enraged.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS SSSSSSSS

At dawn the next morning, Aragorn insisted that we continue the pursuit of our captured friends, much to the chagrin of Gimli. But I agreed with the man: if we continued at this rate, we would be able to reach Fangorn Forest in about two days time, and that would bode very well for us.

As we ran up a quite steep hill, a sharp cold shudder passed through me. A foreboding chill; not like the ones I got while near the Nazgûl, but very close. Spinning around, I faced myself with the eerie, dark sun rising behind us.

"A red sun rises…blood has been spilt this night." I said this more to myself than anyone else. I remembered an old rhyme that my Atto had told me when I was just an elfling. _Beneath a blood red sun rising in the east at first light; be thus forewarned, for a heartbeat has been ceased that night._

At that moment, the unmistakable thunder of hooves could be heard over the hill, in the distance. Aragorn grabbed Gimli's shoulder and hissed for me to duck, as we ran quickly to the other side of the slope, diving beneath some stray rocks.

Mere seconds after removing ourselves from sight, an extremely large cavalry appeared to our right. From the skill of which they directed their steeds, I could tell that these horses and riders were from Rohan; but whether they would help or hinder us, I did not know. Apparently Aragorn trusted these men, and their loyalty to the Free World, for with only a small glance at Gimli and I, he rose from his place and walked to the center of the hill calmly.

Gimli and I followed the man (although I was rather reluctant), and Estel looked at me with reassurance as he shouted to the riders below us in a cool manner. "Riders of Rohan! What news do you bring from the Mark?"

With one small signal from the leader, the horses and riders made a quick turn and began heading towards us, in perfect synchronization. It was quite impressive, even I had to admit, as the huge horses encircled us easily, cutting off any escape routes.

The men rode around us in such a way that Aragorn, Gimli, and I had no hope of winning any fight that may have come about. Whatever Estel was expecting, it probably wasn't this. I narrowed my eyes at the men, a primal instinct urging me forward to attack, but at the same time, my logic holding me back. We were completely outnumbered.

As the horses halted their circling, each man pulled out a spear and moved closer to us, pointing many of the sharp tips at us. They had forced us into a small cramped triangle, back to back, in a defenseless position. This act alone angered me. Aragorn had held up his hands in a gesture of peace and surrender, while Gimli was simply gripping his axe tightly with white knuckles. Me? I was contemplating how many men I could take down with me before I was overwhelmed.

Estel must have seen my train of thought, for he put a calming hand on my shoulder, his mind bombarding mine with pacifying thoughts. _Do not act, mellon-nîn…they are simply taking precautions…_

He met my eyes with a question of my future actions. With an inward sigh, I agreed to his terms of staying peaceful…for now.

"What business does a she-elf, a man, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark?" I glared at the man, who, despite his harsh tone, was familiar in a strange way to me. I was certain that I had never laid eyes on him in my life, but there was definitely something there…

Well, it was obvious that he was the leader of this band. Otherwise he would not be addressing us as such. But what was his status in his kingdom? A captain? A general? No, he seemed too young. Perhaps a prince…

"Speak quickly!" The man (still unknown to me) snapped at us. I glared back at him, catching his gaze for a split second. He flinched almost imperceptibly, breaking eye contact with me.

Gimli, for his part, kept a very cool head about him, asking in a calm manner, "You give me your name, horse-master, and I shall give you mine." The leader glared for a second, before dismounting his steed and walking a few steps to stand in front of the dwarf. Estel put a subduing hand on his shoulder, not unlike he had done to me.

"I would cut off your head, _dwarf_—" he sneered the word, "—if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

That was the last straw for me. Before Gimli or Aragorn could even react, I had pulled out my bow and fixed an arrow at his head, snarling out to defend my friend. "You would die before your stroke fell, adan!" **| man |** I hissed the last word, quite aware that he could not understand it.

The spears automatically moved closer to me, but all I could focus on was the leader's eyes. I found surprise hidden there, and astonishment. But no anger, really. There was only surprise and curiosity. The man was curious as to who I was; about why I was here, with two men. There was also a slight sign of chivalry and protectiveness, as if he believed that I had been kidnapped by Aragorn and Gimli. I almost laughed aloud at that: warriors of Rohan were obviously not used to women being equal with men.

Aragorn, always the one with the cool head, pushed down my weapon. "Cári, saes! Daro!" **| Cári, please! Stop! |**. The soldiers exchanged nervous glances at the Sindarin my friend spoke, which only served to further irritate me. What kind of legends had the Rohirrim been told about the magic of Elves? Were they afraid that I would _tempt_ them, like some witch? (Well…I couldn't exactly deny _that_…).

After convincing me to lower my bow and put away the arrow, Aragorn took it upon himself to introduce us to the leader. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Glóin, and Ellacári, daughter of Thranduil." He gestured to each of us in turn, and when the man came to rest his eyes on me, I narrowed my own, challenging him to say anything. He seemed even more surprised, but did not react physically.

"We are friends of Rohan, and of Théoden, your king." Ah, so Théoden was the current descendent of Eorl. The previous king, Aragorn had told me, was Thengel, who must have been the father of Théoden. But then who was this "prince", if that was indeed his status? The son of Théoden?

The man did not answer for a moment, before responding with a tired sigh. "Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe." With that, he removed his helmet, revealing long, rather shaggy blond hair with a rough face. "Not even his own kin."

As soon as he had said this, the spears were withdrawn from our faces, and the horses backed up a few paces.

"I am Èomer, son of Èomund, nephew to the king." Ah, yes, I finally knew who he reminded me of: Eorl. He was a descendant of the first king of Rohan, of course he would bear a resemblance to the man I once knew. I gazed at Èomer with new eyes, for I trusted that Eorl's progeny would be on the side of good.

"So like him…" I murmured under my breath, still looking at Èomer with a quirked eyebrow. He looked back at me with something akin to agitation, and I suddenly realized that it must seem pretty strange for me to suddenly be looking at a man whom I just tried to kill with such an expression. "Forgive me, son of Èomund…you just look like somebody I once knew…" I said, still staring at the captain's features. Èomer seemed suspicious, yet the tiniest bit curious. A small bubble of amusement welled up inside of me, but I stopped my examination of his characteristics. There wasn't time to tell him of his similarity to Eorl.

A small stab of pain entered my heart: I hadn't realized just how much I missed Eorl until seeing his descendent. He had been a very kind mortal, and had had no prejudices against Elves or women: I had liked him enough to fight for him in war.

Estel and Gimli looked at me with strange expressions, but I simply ignored them, gesturing for Aragorn to say what he wanted to. "Captain Èomer, what does—"

"Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands." I cursed under my breath. So that was the evil Aragorn and I had sensed earlier. "My company are of those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished."

The captain took on that suspicious look again, flashing his eyes towards me in a meaningful glare. "The White Wizard is cunning…he walks here and there, they say; as an old man, hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip through our grasp."

My eyes instinctually narrowed, but again, I held my tongue. I would give the descendent of Eorl the benefit of the doubt. Aragorn spoke quickly, as if seeing that my patience was slowly being tested. "We are no spies. We track a band of Uruk-hai across the plains. They have taken two of our friends captive."

Èomer didn't seem confused at the term we used for them, so I gathered that he had heard them called that before. But unfortunately, he didn't hesitate in answering Aragorn's unspoken question in a dead, emotionless voice (which all seasoned warriors grow to have). "The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night."

"There were two hobbits! Did you see two hobbits?!" Gimli's hopeful voice pleaded with Èomer, and I couldn't help but interject with my own solicitation. "They would be small…" Aragorn nodded in agreement, finishing my sentence as an unbroken habit we have. "…only children to your eyes."

Èomer looked at each of our faces for a moment, before saying in a slightly regretful voice, "We left none alive."

My heart and stomach plummeted. Dead? Dead?! No, no, that cannot be…!

"We piled the carcasses and burned them." He pointed back to a general direction in the distance where a pillar of smoke still lingered: I couldn't tell whether it was east or west. It felt like my stomach had turned to ice…and my head suddenly felt heavy.

_Four dead…four dead…four dead…_

Amidst my inner chanting, I heard Gimli distantly say, in a disbelieving and stunned voice. "Dead?"

I vaguely was aware of Èomer nodding, though I didn't truly see the action. Peculiar, isn't that? Considering I was standing a mere foot from him. "I am sorry."

I swallowed heavily, commanding myself to stop getting choked up. This wouldn't happen. Merry and Pippin were strong: they could take care of themselves. I swayed lightly on my feet: why was there so much death? First Mithrandir, then Boromir, and now the hobbits?

Estel, a now still form beside me, subtly enwrapped my waist in a strong arm, wordlessly supporting my suddenly weak body.

Èomer, watching the three of us with a worried expression, bowed his head in respect and sympathy. A short second passed before his head rose, and he whistled in a commanding way. "Hasufel! Arod!"

Two horses obediently trotted forward, a small example of how the Rohirrim were truly horse-masters, as Gimli had called them. The one to our left, whose reins Èomer gripped, was a proud, dark-hazel colored stallion, and had an air of honor about him. His companion, a brilliant white-maned stallion, was a little less cavalier in his actions, but also had a demeanor of honor surrounding him. I found that I was immediately drawn to the latter of the two (Arod, I assumed). He reminded me of my own Elvish stallion, Arphenion. I had brought him to the Council all those months ago, but had left him there when departing on the Fellowship: I did admit to missing him slightly.

I reached forward slightly (out of Aragorn's comforting grasp), and gripped the reins of the white stallion, pulling him forward slightly as Aragorn took the reins of the other from Èomer. "May these horses bear you better fortune than their former masters." The nephew of Thèoden nodded in the common parting gesture. "Farewell. Search for your friends, but do not trust to hope." He glanced at me, an undetectable emotion shining in his eyes. "It is forsaken in these lands."

I nodded back stiffly to him, still unable to comprehend the fact that Merry and Pippin could be dead. After we had gone all this way…this far…had Boromir's death been in vain?

Gimli was still and silent beside me, as the Rohirrim warriors departed down the hill with a quick order from Èomer. We stood there, immersed in our own thoughts for a few more seconds, before Gimli, gruff and with a hint of sorrow, looked up at the horses with pure dread. "I refuse to—"

"Horses are faster than running. We were lucky to have Èomer come along." Aragorn interrupted the profusely reluctant dwarf with a glare. Gimli shrunk back with a small mutter of discontent: if it weren't Merry and Pippin on the line, I'm sure he would've done something more.

_But it _is_ Merry and Pippin. Maybe if we can get there in time—_

Clinging to a nearly imperceptible sliver of hope, I leapt onto Arod easily, whispering small murmurs of greeting to him. The horse neighed nervously for a split-second as I settled into the saddle, but I quickly eased his fears. "Áva quetë…áva quetë, nilmo-nîn…nányë Ellacári Thranduiliel…quetuvangwë sí ve nildu?" **| Quiet…quiet, my friend…I am Ellacári Thranduiliel…may we speak as friends now? |**

The horse immediately stilled with my ministrations, whimpering softly. I stroked his mane gently, my lips quirking slightly as the stallion neighed and stamped impatiently, as if pleading with me to let him run.

When I looked to my left, I saw that Aragorn had already mounted his own horse, Hasufel, and that only left Gimli standing dumbly behind the two steeds. Both Estel and I turned around to face him, as he looked between the two horses: Hasufel or Arod – Aragorn or Ellacári. I raised a coy eyebrow at him.

"Elves are much lighter than humans, Elvellon. Arod would be better able to bear your weight and mine; than yours and Aragorn's."

Gimli stuttered, a dark shade of red – and for once, at a lost for words. "But—lass—Ellacári—you're, well, you're a—_woman_." I continued to look at him with a blank expression. "And?"

Gimli sputtered again, momentarily forgetting his sorrow. If not for my impatience and worry for the hobbits, I would've laughed out loud at his awkwardness.

"It—it wouldn't be—I couldn't…"

"Gimli," I said impatiently, rolling my eyes, "Aragorn has ridden with me before."

The dwarf's eyes lifted in sudden, desperate hope. "Then why don't you ride with _him_?" I snorted at the obvious flaw in his plan. "Would _you_ want to ride Arod by yourself?"

Gimli's eyes widened and he slumped in defeat. My logic was foolproof. Either ride with me, the woman; or direct a horse by himself. I smirked again, grabbing Gimli's arm and pulling him up behind me.

Meanwhile, to my left, Aragorn was trying desperately to stop the quiver of his lips: and was not succeeding.

Gimli huffed and puffed as he settled into the back of the saddle, continuing to be very still and stiff behind me. I rolled my eyes again. "Gimli, if you do not want to fall off the second Arod moves forward, I would suggest that you would wrap your arms around my waist."

Gimli swallowed so loudly that it was audible. But hesitantly (and _extremely_ reluctantly), he did as I suggested. Aragorn snorted once, but our solemn temperament had returned. With a small gesture, Estel nudged Hasufel forward, and I soon followed. We headed straight towards the ominous pillar of smoke in the distance, slowly dissipating and fading into the air.

* * *

Before we even arrived at the remnants of the battle, I was aware of the extreme carnage that had occurred: the _stench_ was almost unbearable. Nearly a league away from the burnt pile of orcs, the odor had hit me at full force: my acute senses making it that much worse. I wrinkled my nose disdainfully, gagging lightly, though the action wasn't perceptible to my mortal friends. No need to worry them unnecessarily.

As the charred remains of Uruk-hai came into sight, however, I could no longer conceal my disgust. I felt my stomach rumble with the effort of not retching right then and there; and my throat automatically clenched in repulsion. _It is even worse that I actually recognize the smell. _The bodies of orcs can be burned as a disposal method: both men and elves occasionally used this technique to rid the earth forever of the slaughtered creatures. But just because I had seen – and _smelt_ – the burnt monsters before, does not mean that I had ever really gotten used to it.

I quickly dismounted Arod, trying to hide my nausea and abhorrence. I wasn't prevailing against the sickness. Breathing in and out deeply with focused concentration, I helped Gimli down from the horse and we joined Aragorn at the pile of carcasses. To my horror, there stood a skewered Uruk head right in front of us: this really wasn't helping my stomach.

Gimli seemed to be not as disgusted as me (or he was simply hiding it extremely well with his concern for the hobbits), as he lumbered forward to go through a main heap of rubble. Breathing in deeply again, I once more took on the stoic façade I usually wore. I would be able to tolerate the horrid sight and stench for now: for Merry and Pippin.

A few seconds after Gimli had begun the search, he stopped moving abruptly, picking something up and turning back to Estel and me. He held it up with a sorrowful look. "It's one of their little belts."

With those six words, I forgot all about the orcs and the ghastly fetor, for the dwarf was correct. One Elvish belt that either Merry or Pippin had acquired from Lothlórien was charred, almost beyond recognition. The sheath and belt had been contorted and warped into a grotesque new shape, and I could barely even read the Elvish lettering that had once glowed there, unhindered: hebo amin estel, ah tuin im melon – I keep hope for myself, and for those whom I love.

I bemoaned inaudibly at the conclusion each of us had drawn: Merry and Pippin were indeed gone.

"Hiro hyn hîdh ab wanath…" **| May they find peace in death |** I murmured softly, bowing my head in respect for my fallen friends. Gimli was silent beside me: Aragorn, however, had a much more _drastic_ release of his grief.

With a rabid snarl, my best friend kicked one of the orc helmets towards the tree-line, screaming in frustration as if he was physically injured, and dropping to his knees in defeat. Gimli and I didn't move, still frozen in uncomprehending sorrow. "We failed them." The dwarf finally said with a grievous sense of sadness evident in his voice. I simply bowed my head further, successfully keeping my tears at bay, for now.

We did not move for a few seconds, not even Aragorn who was still on his knees. But when Estel finally opened his eyes, he caught sight of something that he did not expect: tracks.

"A hobbit lay here…and the other." I turned my head sluggishly, still extremely weighed down by my woe. The man held some flicker of curiosity and bafflement in his grey eyes, but it still had not morphed into hope. The ranger examined the dented, stirred grass with his hands, sitting back on his calves to think more clearly.

"They must have crawled…" I raised an eyebrow at Gimli, but as Aragorn rose slowly and cautiously, finding tracks that even I could not see, the dwarf and I followed him. I had immense confidence in Estel as a ranger – it was in his blood, after all – so when he said that Merry and Pippin had lain there, then I believed wholeheartedly that they had.

"Their hands were bound." He bent down to examine the indents once again, moving more quickly and at a frantic, hopeful pace. Gimli and I trailed behind, searching the ground for the signs that Aragorn was seeing.

Suddenly Estel crouched to the ground, picking up a two long strands of rope. The edges were frayed, and Aragorn, seeing this, smiled with something akin to triumph: that flicker of hope was now simmering in his eyes. "Their bonds were cut…"

The Ranger leapt to his feet, walking faster, almost running, speaking to himself now as much as he was to us. "They ran over here," he spun around, "and here…but were followed."

Now I could see the much more heavy imprints of an orc trailing underfoot as well. And then there was a small indentation in the grass that was shaped roughly like a bare foot, which made my heart soar.

"The tracks lead away from the battle!" Gimli and I ran forward to meet up with a now still and stunned Aragorn. "Into…Fangorn Forest."

Simultaneously, the three of us looked at each other, and raised our heads. The immense, shadowed tree-line in front of us towered ominously, with dark, dense, _menacing_ groans. Gimli and Aragorn swallowed uncertainly, but I simply gazed upward at the trees, wondering if they had alert souls like the ones in Elven kingdoms…or if they had folded so far into themselves that nothing could reach them anymore. Considering the highly unwelcome and foreboding atmosphere, I assumed it was the latter.

"Fangorn! What madness drove them in _there_?" Gimli muttered in awe and confusion.

"Maybe they did not have a choice." I replied, neither his nor my eyes leaving the forest. An unspoken order came to all of us: we _would_ follow Merry and Pippin into the darkest, densest forest ever to befall Middle-Earth…and we _would_ rescue our friends.

* * *

Translations –

**Elvellon – Elf-Friend**

**(1) **In the tales of Eorl the Young, the first king of Rohan, led men through Mirkwood and Lothlórien in 2510 of the Third Age (in which Ellacári would've been way past her majority).

**Adan – Man (singular)**

**Cári, saes! Daro! – Cári, please! Stop!**_  
_

_Áva quetë…áva quetë, nilmo-nîn…nányë Ellacári Thranduiliel…quetuvangwë sí ve nildu? – Quiet…quiet, my friend…I am Ellacári Thranduiliel…may we speak as friends now?_

**Hebo amin estel, ah tuin im melon – I keep hope for myself, and for those whom I love**

**Hiro hyn hîdh ab wanath – May they find peace in death.**

* * *

**Word-Count: 4,999**

**Alright, so this is a much longer chapter update…believe me, I would've posted much faster, but whenever I tried to end it, I just couldn't find the right place! So I just had to wait until they got to Fangorn (which was quite fun to write!). The next part is gonna be fun too: a lot of lines for Legolas! Yay!**

**But first, a few things I wanted to address: I know in the movie, Legolas is ****really**** pissed off at Èomer when he threatens Gimli, and our favorite Elf prince continues to be really mad at him throughout the whole confrontation scene. But since I already established that Ellacári knew Eorl—and saw a resemblance of him in Èomer—I decided that she didn't have to be mad at him the **_**whole**_** scene, just some of it.**

**(Also, don't ask why her blessing for Merry and Pippin at the end is in Sindarin. Again, this was one of those times where I was just too lazy to translate it into Quenya since the movie had already conveniently given me the Sindarin translation).**

**Thanks again for all the marvelous support, and I hope all of you have great holidays!**

**~CC. **


	18. The Return of the Wizard

**Disclaimer: None of this is my idea, unfortunately—it's all the mastery of J.R.R. Tolkien, Peter Jackson, and New Line Cinema. *Sniffle* why can't Christopher Tolkien give over the rights to just ****one**** elf! I'd be happy with Glorfindel—he's not even in the movie anyway (and yeah, I was totally pissed with Arwen when she replaced him…who steals the almighty Balrog Slayer's horse anyway…)!**

…**Ok, gonna stop with **_**that**_** rant…**

**So sorry for the slow update: especially since I didn't have the "busy-in-school" excuse for half of the time. I really wanted to get another post in before Holiday Break ended for me (I went back to school on January 3****rd****…wahhh), but it was easier said than done.**

"**Red/Dilila" – I think I was 11 when I read the books…but it took me a **_**long**_** time. I think I actually watched the first movie before anything, and then stopped watching them to read the books…I don't know exactly how many people are reviewing (heh, I'm either too lazy or too unknowledgeable (as to how the website works) to check)…don't worry! I'm getting to Helms Deep (and yeah, I'm still totally clueless as to what's gonna happen there)—but I'm really looking forward to Aragorn's "cliff-tumble". Again, putting my characters through emotional torment is ****so fun!**

**Hm, I can't really decide if I like the way this chapter came out…I think I do, but…ah, I guess you'll just have to see for yourself! *wink* **

Chapter 18 – The Return of the Wizard

* * *

**Legolas gave a great shout and shot an arrow high into the air: It vanished in a flash of flame. "Mithrandir!" he cried. "Mithrandir!" "Well met, I say to you again, Legolas!" said the old man…**

**~ "The White Rider"**

* * *

Fangorn Forest was above and beyond any of the preconceived notions that I had of the woods. In my younger years, Fangorn had been counted as one of the greatest forests of light, placed with Lothlórien itself. However as time went on, with the rise, fall, and resurrection of Sauron, Fangorn Forest had become a place of darkness, misery, and fear. Atto continuously warned me against traversing that place; and I (for once) had followed his orders.

I dodged Fangorn as often as I could (which was always), and was extremely wary of it, and the shadows it emanated. I became accustomed to traveling around the forest and through Isengard to avoid the dark, brooding trees – and so, throughout my whole life, I had managed to avoid Fangorn, despite how impossible the feat seemed, considering how many millennia I had seen.

But with this one adventure (some would call it a _mis_-adventure), all those beliefs of apprehension, anxiety and mistrust had just disappeared. The trees spoke – _sang_ – to me: long, melodious, yet melancholic tunes that had my eyes brimming with tears. This was something that Aragorn and Gimli could never understand, could never _hear_. The deep, everlasting mourning of Middle-Earth: of the Trees.

After being silent for approximately two minutes amongst the trees, a small spat could be heard behind me. I turned slowly, glancing at a disgusted Gimli. "Orc blood." He said in a low voice, gesturing at a dark spot on a cluster of branches a few meters away. _That bodes ill…if orcs followed Merry and Pippin into Fangorn…_

I grimaced at the thought, but almost immediately after, banished it from my mind.

Estel, for his part, was focusing intently on the ground: and the remains that had been left on the forest floor. "These are very strange tracks…"

I spared a brief glance at the center of his attention: indeed, they were _very_ peculiar impressions. Much like a splayed out paintbrush, flattened straight down. Almost like…_roots_. I gulped unintentionally, a small shudder fluttering in my stomach. _No…no, they are long extinct…it is not possible._

"Why is the air so close in here…?" I heard Gimli swallow loudly and nervously: he was beginning to twitch uncomfortably from being in such close proximity to trees. _I guess he misses his mines. Not that I do: you are in my territory now, Master Dwarf._

I smiled, reaching my hand out to touch one of the trees; the singing grew louder. "This forest is old…_very_ old. Full of memory…" my eyes crinkled at another emotion I found "…and _anger_."

I spun my head around quickly, hearing a louder and different voice calling in the distance. But almost as soon as it registered within me, the sound had dissipated into the air. _This forest just gets stranger and stranger!_ But I momentarily ignored the new "voice" when Gimli and Aragorn stiffened beside me as a reaction to the trees', now audible, voices: Gimli even going as far to raise his axe in warning.

I glared at him, almost like reprimanding a small child, as I felt the trees' anger grow in response to his actions. "The trees are simply speaking to each other, Elvellon."

Another deep rumble echoed inside of the enclosed space of the forest, and Gimli tensed even further, raising his axe as if he were about to strike. Before I could growl out another rebuke to my dwarf friend, Aragorn (finally catching on to _why_ the trees were so upset), did it for me.

"Gimli!"

"Huh?" The dwarf spun to face Aragorn, looking around at the trees anxiously. "Lower your axe!"

The dwarf looked confused for a small second, before he glanced at the axe, then at the trees, then at the axe again. "Oh!" He quickly lowered his weapon, raising his spare hand up in a gesture of peace. The trees quieted down slightly, though they were still rather unnerved by an axe being in their forest. So much they had grown to fear…the axes of Curunîr…the fires of industry…

"They have feelings as well, my friend." I smiled, gazing around me with awe and no small amount of respect. "The Elves began it…very long ago…waking up the trees…" my purely happy smile widened, "…teaching them to move, to think…to _speak_."

I once again rested my hand on a nearby oak tree; and I could almost feel my face glowing with bliss. Said tree rumbled in contentment from my touch – actually, _rumbling_ is not the correct term. The tree was _purring_. I just barely contained the laughter from escaping my lips.

"Talking trees." Gimli snorted. "What do trees have to talk about, hmm? Well, except for the consistency of squirrel droppings." I glanced at him, grinning wryly. Before I could shoot back a retort, a heard a nearly imperceptible sound: the quiet snapping of a twig, and the rustling of leaves.

I froze mid-word, my mouth staying open for a split second, before I reacted. Spinning around towards the forest beyond, and stalking forward in a warily, I growled out to Aragorn in Sindarin (forgetting momentarily that Gimli wouldn't understand us). "Aragorn, nad no ennas!" **| Something's out there! |**

Our dwarvish friend, although he did not know a word of Elvish, immediately became aware of his surroundings, recognizing the alarm and warning in my voice. And Estel had been with me long enough to realize that when I was _this_ tense, something was desperately wrong. I, for one, wasn't so sure of what was wrong either; all I could tell so far was that we were not alone in Fangorn Forest.

My eyes crinkled in concentration, and I could feel my brow furrow into the very familiar expression of "far-looking", as Elrohir had dubbed it.

Something peculiar was blocking my sight: a white, foggy haze surrounded the forest beyond. I nearly growled aloud from frustration, and barely restrained myself from clenching my fists in irritation. I just…couldn't…_see_!

"Man cenich?" **| What do you see? |** I wasn't at all surprised to find Estel standing beside me, and his inquiry was quite predictable. But I really wasn't focusing on my friends at this moment. All of my attention was devoted to the dim, white cloud obstructing my gazing. This didn't make any sense! It was almost as if I was—

Wait! That was it! The realization hit me half-a-second after Estel's question. The small part of my mind that was contemplating (and therefore, not focusing on the haze) flashed back to that day, nearly two months ago…back before Caradhras.

…_something, or _someone_, was blocking my sight…_

…_I tried to see clearer…But my sight was still blurry…_

…_I still could not make it out…_ **(1)**

On that day on the roots of the mountain, I couldn't see _Curunîr's_ spies before they were upon us. Back then, it was the Crebain: the birds sent to report us back to the traitorous wizard. So if this _was_ Curunîr, in _this_ forest, then that would explain everything: the white haze, the blocking, the disappearance of the hobbits, Èomer's wariness, the evil lurking in Rohan, and King Théoden's poisoned mind. But how to tell my companions this…without alerting the istar…

Carefully, and with much thought to my choice of words (though it only took me a full second to process all of these thoughts), I whispered in the Common Tongue. "The White Wizard approaches."

My quick eyes darted to the right of us, and I imperceptibly moved my right hand to indicate that was the direction our enemy was. Thankfully, both Gimli and Aragorn saw the small signal, and they tensed as a result.

Aragorn, hardly breathing and still as a mortal man could be, spoke in a very low undertone. "Do not let him speak. He will put a spell on us. Cári…" I nodded my head softly and slowly in understanding. As soon as we assailed Curunîr, I would shield us, and attempt to launch a counteroffensive on the wizard. The odds were against me, but it would be worth a try.

Gimli exhaled (softly, for once), gripping his axe tighter and shifting his body towards us. Peripherally, I saw Estel rest his hand calmly on his sword hilt; but I could tell from the way his body was extremely rigid that my friend was ready to attack. I gently placed my hand on one of my long knives, much like Aragorn had done with his sword.

"We must be quick." Aragorn whispered again. I exhaled easily and quietly, relishing in the deadly, soothing calm that descends on one who is on the edge of battle. Then, with both Gimli and I watching intently, Aragorn tilted his head. If I was a human, it would've been almost unnoticeable. In fact, it was purely by chance that Gimli was paying close enough attention to catch the movement. But that was all it took to set us off.

With a nimble and rapid flash of simultaneous movement, the three of us leapt to the right, attacking at the same exact second. But it was clear that our efforts were useless, for a mere millisecond earlier, a purely white, blinding light emerged from the wizard, disorienting us all: even me.

In our defense, the three of us did recover very quickly: Gimli threw his axe first, in a valiant attempt to destroy – but it was deflected by the istar's staff as if it was nothing more than a soft breeze.

Aragorn's attack never had any hope at all: with nothing to throw or fight with at that exact moment, the wizard simply set his sword aflame, burning my friend's hand as a result and causing him to drop his weapon. That was what really infuriated me: that this man, wizard or not, _dared_ to hurtmy friend…

But as for the matter of _my _attack…well, it was more metaphysical than actually substantial in the waking world. I threw my knife at our adversary, of course; but I had almost expected for that corporeal attempt to fail. For me, the most astonishing thing about our downfall was the _force_ of my own defeat.

The precise moment that we had turned on the figure clothed in white, I, of course, put up an impressive mental and physical shield around myself and my two companions. Using the little light of the forest and my own natural feä's power, I constructed a very (or what I thought) strong barrier against Curunîr's own magic.

Valar, was I foolish.

Instead of aiding me in unleashing an offensive attack on the istar, the shield was actually a _disadvantage_. In retrospect, I should have realized that a wizard could easily use my own power again me. But I was, again, a fool for not preparing for that outcome, and I was punished for my shortsightedness.

Within a short second of creating the magical shield, with the center of it surrounding my own power source, the istar had reached out with his white, cold, yet strangely warm spiritual hand…and gripped my soul.

My knees buckled unintentionally, and I gasped in something that I believed to be pain. And yet…it didn't really hurt at all. The closest word I would use to describe the feeling was to be probed, searched: but I didn't feel at all violated. I couldn't tell if it was uncomfortable or not; I couldn't really _tell_ anything.

It took a whole two seconds for me to be completely breeched and defeated by this wizard; but our "enemy" was not finished with me there. He seemed utterly cool and collected as he toyed with my feä – something which unnerved me quite a lot – and he was not gasping from exertion as I now was. Taking a tighter grip on my shield and light, he forced me back with his own, much more powerful blast of magic. The shield hit my chest with the force of a wild boar, making my physical body collapse on the ground where I had been previously standing. My mental state was in a frenzy: shaking with chaotic, cold trembling as my mind and magic attempted to mend itself back together from the onslaught it had been put through.

I was ripped back to my physical body as I kept desperately trying to breathe again. To gulp back in cold, welcome mouthfuls of air.

Throughout this whole ordeal, one thought kept throbbing in the back of my mind: _We're dead. We're dead. Saruman's going to kill us…any second now, and I'll be greeting Lord Mandos in the Halls of the Fallen…_

However, as I still tried to catch my breath – any breath – I realized that none of us were, in fact, dead. This came as a great surprise to me: considering the viciousness that Curunîr had attacked me with, I was astounded that he had not just killed us in an instant. What was he—?

And that…that was when I saw it. Or, more accurately, _him_. For that one, single moment, I forgot about almost everything. About Aragorn, about Gimli, Merry, Pippin, Frodo, Sam, Boromir. I forgot about Sauron and about war and violence; about Elrohir, Arwen, my father, and the Elves of Mirkwood back home. For that instant, all the plagues were gone, and I only had one, single name pulsing through my mind. _His_ name. The impossible name.

_Gandalf! Gandalf! Gandalf! He's alive! Alive!_

Aragorn and Gimli had their eyes fixed upon my trembling body on the ground beside them. But I couldn't move: couldn't move to reassure them that everything was going to be alright. My gaze was glued to Mithrandir…to the wizard…to the friend whom I thought was gone…to my companion who defied death! My trembling grew as I kept trying to breathe.

And then he spoke…a handsome, deep voice…such an amazing and welcome sound, even if it was not what I expected. It wasn't his usual low, wise tone that he _used_ to have: this was proud and powerful. I was surprised that Aragorn and Gimli were able to stay on their feet – all I did was sink lower and lower into the ground, bowing under the power of my Leader…the Maia.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits?" I gasped as he said that, now on my hands and knees before the istar and still breathing heavily. Elbereth, how much power did he have? The aftermath of that one spell that he shot at me…Valar, I was still reeling from it.

Gimli was frozen to the spot, squinting and cowering before the wizard. Estel had a little more freedom in his actions, and, to my later chagrin, he dived towards me. Shaking my shoulders violently, he hissed my name over and over. But I couldn't move my eyes from Mithrandir. The man's power was still throbbing, pulsing through the ground – pulsing through _me_. It was the most forceful, dynamic, and intense power rush I had _ever_ felt in my entire 6,508 years of living on this Earth: and it was enough to make me tremble.

Aragorn looked up in response to the wizard's question, his head held high with bravery. "Where are they?!"

"They passed this way…the day before yesterday. They met someone whom they did not expect…" I nearly laughed aloud at that. Oh yes, Merry and Pippin _definitely_ wouldn't be expecting _this_, "…does that comfort you?"

I shook harder, looking up at Mithrandir, the one who had tutored and taught me my whole life. The one who was like an adopted father to me. "Hannon le…hannon le…" I managed to stutter out, flashing a brilliant smile, though I didn't really know what I was thanking him for. For protecting the hobbits? For reassuring us? For just being alive?

Aragorn looked at me with evident surprise in his face: I could hear his thoughts very clearly. _Why is she thanking __Saruman__ – especially when he's causing her so much pain?!_ I shook my head franticly. _No! You have it all wrong, Estel!_ The man narrowed his eyes at me, and, thinking that I was under some hex, spun back towards Mithrandir.

"What have you done to her?! Show yourself, Saruman!" There was a small chuckle from the white light. Just before Gandalf revealed himself to my companions, I thought to myself with smirk: _Those two are in for the shock of their lives_.

The white light dissipated into the muggy forest air, allowing the face of the Grey Pilgrim to shine through unhindered. Aragorn and Gimli gasped, both of their mouths open in pure shock. I laughed quietly and tearfully, all remaining tenseness draining from my body as I gripped Aragorn's hand tighter in support. "Now you understand…" I whispered, grinning at the subject of their gaping.

Aragorn struggled for words, finally settling on the most illogical of ones (of course). "It cannot be!" Gimli was still frozen in shock.

I decided to speak up. "Forgive me, my Lord, I mistook you for Saruman."

Mithrandir seemed surprised that I was asking to be forgiven by him. "Please, young one, do not apologize. I should be the one asking forgiveness from you. I did not intend to hurt you as such." I had almost forgotten the original onslaught Mithrandir had put me through. It didn't even matter to me anymore – that's why I was so surprised that it mattered to _him_.

I shook my head furiously. "Nay, nay, you did not injure me, Eruedraith **(2)**…"

The man chuckled and shone brighter at the name I had automatically thought to bestow upon him. It fit him well…another title amongst the dozens he already bore.

Aragorn and Gimli were still frozen, confused and shocked: and to be honest, so was I. How _was_ Mithrandir here? We saw him die…Nobody, wizard or not, could have survived that fall…and how had he been granted this new power? Now that the happiness and shock of his survival had faded slightly, my curiosity had begun to dominate my mind.

As Estel rose from his place beside me on the ground (I still wasn't able to stand without my knees wobbling), he managed to speak again. I think he summed up all of our thoughts pretty well. "But…you fell!"

Mithrandir's previously amused expression shattered into a million pieces, and his eyes drifted far into the past.

"Ai…through fire…and water. From the lowest dungeon of the highest peak, I fought him, the Balrog of Morgoth." I shuddered involuntarily at the mention of that evil creature, but did not interrupt the wizard's tale.

"Until at last, I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me…and I strayed out of all thought and time. Stars were wielded overhead, and everyday was as long as a life age of the Earth." This time I smiled slightly in recognition. I had been to this place many times…though not physically. In my dreams…this was where I conversed with Lady Elbereth – it was the Halls of Waiting.

"But it was not the end. I felt life in me again." With that last proclamation, Mithrandir's eyes cleared, focusing in on the present once again. "I've been sent back, until my task is done."

Aragorn finally smiled in happiness: it seemed to finally occur to him that Mithrandir was, in fact, alive. That this was no illusion made by Curunîr to fool us. "Gandalf…"

Mithrandir smiled mysteriously, but with a flicker of remembrance in his wise, sapphire eyes. "Gandalf? Yes…that is what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey…that was my name."

Gimli, having the same realization that Estel had undergone, chuckled happily, repeating the name as Aragorn had. "Gandalf!"

Mithrandir smiled, walking slowly towards my still grounded form, and extended his gentle, yet reliable and strong hand. I took it with one of my own and pulled myself up from the floor. My knees and legs no longer felt weak: just by making contact with the new wizard's skin, a power rush zapped through me, turning my body from trembling to unyielding in a flash.

With a small smile directed at me, he extended his view to include Estel and Gimli. "But _I_ am Gandalf the White. And I come back to you now…at the turning of the tide."

* * *

"One stage of your journey is over; but another begins. War has come to another world of Men. We must ride with all speed to Edoras." I hurried forward with Gimli trailing at my side. Mithrandir had wasted no time in urging us forward out of the forest after his declaration, immediately assuming command of our little vagabond group of heroes (and I'm pretty sure Aragorn was quite thankful for that shift in the status quo).

Gimli groaned softly (only I could hear) and, exactly like I expected he would, began objecting to that course of action (or rather, the riding that came with it). "Edoras?! But that is no short distance!" With Gimli continuing to mutter to himself about "uncomfortable horses" and "wizards with no logic", I jogged forward slightly to hear Aragorn and Mithrandir conversing quietly (Aragorn trying to keep up as much as I was).

"We hear of trouble in Rohan. It goes ill with the King." I nodded in agreement. "Ai, Mithrandir…there is an evil here that lies dormant no longer."

The istar nodded in verification. "Yes…and it will not be easily cured or removed."

Gimli finally managed to catch up with us, and his mutterings grew louder and louder until they were out rightly directed at us. "Then we have come all this way for _nothing_?! Are we just going to leave those poor hobbits here in this horrid, dark, dank tree-infested…!"

I growled warningly, still rather irritated at my friend for that. I didn't insult his mines all those months ago (or at least, not _aloud_)! The trees seemed to agree with me in that aspect, and loud, intimidating rumbles echoed throughout the woods.

"I mean charming!" Gimli corrected hastily, looking around nervously. "Quite charming forest!" Estel and I both rolled our eyes, an unconscious gesture after traveling with the dwarf for so long.

Mithrandir had stopped and began gazing around thoughtfully. "It was much more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn. A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains." I grinned at those words. Gandalf the White was certainly much more mysterious and riddle-some than Gandalf the Grey had been.

Aragorn seemed to mirror my own thoughts. "In one thing you have not changed, dear friend." Mithrandir cocked his head with an unspoken question, and Aragorn answered with a small grin on his face. "You still speak in riddles."

The two of them laughed, the smirks still evident on their features, and I couldn't help but smile fondly. This was exactly what the three of us had needed: the return of our old friend, companion, and leader.

With my attention back to Mithrandir's wandering eyes, the wizard spoke once again. "A thing is about to happen here that has not happened since the Elder Days…" My old friend met my gaze with a cryptic wink, and I was almost positive that it was a jest at my age (although I was a mere child compared to _him_). "The Ents are going to wake up…and find that they are strong." This time I out rightly grinned. _I was right! The Ents are _not_ extinct!_

Gimli, however, didn't have the same reaction that I had. "Strong? Oh, that's good."

This time Mithrandir rolled his eyes along with Aragorn and me. He continued his marching towards the tree-line, shouting back behind him at the unnerved nogoth. "Stop your fretting, Master Dwarf. Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact," at this next sentence, he chuckled, "they are far safer than _you_ three are about to be!"

I raised an eyebrow at this, but grabbed Gimli's shoulder to hurry him along. Muttering to himself again, the dwarf looked at me, saying in an almost wounded tone, "This new Gandalf's more grumpy than the old one."

I chuckled, speeding up at Aragorn's own increase in pace. We still needed to travel for a few more minutes before we were to reach the tree-line, but with my Elvish hearing, I could discern Arod and Hasufel's whinnies as we slowly approached the place we had left them last.

I grinned wickedly at Gimli, for he was suddenly in high spirits and much too enthusiastic. "So eager to leave Fangorn, are we, Elvellon?" Gimli laughed nervously, knowing how defensive I was about the trees. "Nay, Mistress Elf. I simply am anxious to continue on with our great journey."

I snorted, winking impishly at the bewildered dwarf. "Ah, so this anxiousness has nothing to do with excitement for Arod and myself?"

Gimli was suddenly in the throes of a strong bout of coughing. I chuckled: I did love tormenting him so.

Aragorn and Mithrandir laughed from ahead of us, the former dropping back slightly to clap a comforting hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "Do not feel too humiliated, Gimli: she was much worse when I began to rode with her the first time. And if Elladan has not lied to me, then Cári was just _dreadful_ when Elrohir first did. Not that she didn't have good reason—" Now I was the one to cough wildly, and, much to my chagrin, my cheeks flushed with color. "Estel!" I hissed, hitting his arm in a heavy admonishment.

Gimli raised an eyebrow at this, before a slow grin broke out over his face. My eyes widened as I tried to understand how in all Arda Estel had managed to discover the love between Elrohir and I. "A son of Elrond, lass? Well, I guess there are worse elves…" I gasped in horror, almost hitting him like I had Aragorn before my latter friend caught me around my waist, placing me gently on the ground on the other side of him.

Sighing in resignation, I covered my face in my hands, asking Aragorn with a reluctant groan. "How long have you known?" Aragorn shrugged. "Oh, only since I reached majority." I gaped at the man. "Has everyone on Middle-Earth known about this except Elrohir and I?"

This time, Mithrandir snorted from up ahead, in that wizard-y air of his: in a way that made you seem completely ridiculous. "Of course, titta-aranel **| little princess |**…was there ever any doubt?"

I once again attempted to find words to adequately express my feelings (if Erestor ever discovered my speechlessness, he would surely flay me alive). I finally decided on muttering under my breath, "Traitors."

Mithrandir chortled mirthfully, and but Aragorn and Gimli had no problem laughing outright at my apparently hilarious countenance. I glanced at them, though the action was more from disguised pleasure than anger. At least I would spare Elrohir the burden of telling his younger brother that he was in love with his best friend…while at the same time, said younger brother was in love with Elrohir's sister.

_What a clichéd love-triangle we make._

* * *

As we finally broke through Fangorn's tree-line a few short minutes later, Aragorn and I greeted our respective steeds with warmth and comfort: while Gimli, as I expected, stood with Mithrandir, glowering at Arod with barely concealed contempt.

I chuckled at Arod's wounded and angry thoughts. "Do not fret, nilmo-nîn **| my friend |**: that was how he first looked at me as well. He will warm to you soon enough." Arod neighed in reluctant compliance, stamping impatiently as we waited for Mithrandir to make a move. Nobody had _said_ anything about the wizard's obvious absence of a horse, and now the unspoken question was how he would ride to Edoras.

Our silent curiosity was soon sated, for only a few moments had passed before our friend let out two piercing, commanding whistles that echoed throughout the plains before us. Nothing happened for nearly ten seconds, before a creature emerged from the trees in the distance.

A beautiful, white stallion with graceful, yet powerful strides. As my eyes raked the impressive horse's body, I notice that the sun seems to hit his coat at just the right places, making his form look like it was _sparkling_ in it's luster. I stepped forward uncertainly, stopping as I reached Mithrandir's side. The wizard was smiling fondly at the still galloping horse: this magnificent, _beautiful_ creature.

"That is one of the Mearas, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell." I said softly, cocking my head in wonder and admiration. This fair stallion truly was certainly extraordinary: the now bowing heads of both Arod and Hasufel confirmed that belief.

As the horse's form breeched the top of the last hill, the sun truly shown from over the mountains, making his coat glitter with renewed glossiness. "Shadowfax…" Mithrandir murmured, stroking said horse's nose with kindness and obvious affection. I smiled to myself. _A fitting name for such a beautiful steed. _

"…he is known as the Lord of all Horses. And has been my friend through many dangers."

And so, with little more than an encouraging smile and nod, the four of us mounted our respective horses: Mithrandir on Shadowfax, Estel on Hasufel, and me and Gimli on Arod. With a few seconds of simply gazing out on the plains, steeling ourselves with what was to come, Mithrandir simply raised his hand, and then we were off.

To Rohan. To Edoras. And to the King.

* * *

Translations –

**Aragorn, nad no ennas – Aragorn, something's out there**

**Man cenich? – What do you see?**

**(1) **A flashback to Chapter 7

**(2) **Eruedraith – Name meaning "whom Eru has saved" (lit. "Gods have saved thee").

_Titta-aranel – Little princess_

_Nilmo-nîn – My friend  
_

* * *

**Word-Count: 4,932**

**Alright, again, sorry that it took so long to update. I spent a lot of time debating about Ellacári's reaction to Gandalf…I hope you liked the scenario I settled on! And sorry about the mindless ramble at the end…I was kinda writing most of that while at 1 AM with my iPod blasting on shuffle…heh heh.**

**Oh, and on that subject, anyone who has started to read my other story, "Impossible to Move On", don't worry, I am on the case! And to those that haven't read it, please check it out! *smiles***

**I cannot thank you enough for this, so I'll say it again: Thank you ****so much**** for all the much appreciated support!**

**Naamarie…**

**~CC. **


	19. Shadows and Poison

**Disclaimer: No recognizable characters or events are owned by me…they all belong to their respective geniuses.**

**Hello everybody! I am SO sorry that I haven't updated in such a long time (again)…I have had midterms these past couple of weeks, and it's been ****really**** crazy with studying and all (and I was really upset, 'cause this is actually my favorite part in the movie, and I didn't have much time to write it. *pouts*). And then, on top of that, it's been snowing CONSTANTLY where I live…it's insane. 5 inches one day, 3 inches the next, and then BAM, you're hit with 10 inches! Sometimes I just hate winter…but don't worry; I will definitely find time to post!**

**Before we go on, just a little side note: Is everyone else as completely PSYCHED about the new Hobbit movie as I am? Scheduled for December of 2012…that has Martin Freedman as Bilbo; Ian Mckellan as Gandalf; and David Tennant as Thranduil?! And that will probably have Orlando Bloom, Cate Blanchett, **_**and**_** Hugo Weaving reprising their roles as Legolas, Galadriel, and Elrond respectively?! (And yeah, that is the part that I'm really excited about…what can I say? I love my Elves!) So yeah, as you can imagine, I am ****really, really**** psyched about this movie! 2012 can't come soon enough…**

**Ok, sorry 'bout that little rant…here we go!**

Chapter 19 – Shadows and Poison

* * *

"…**Edoras those courts are called, and Meduseld is that golden hall. There dwells Théoden son of Thengal, King of the Mark of Rohan…draw no weapon, speak no haughty word, I counsel you all, until we are come before Théoden's seat…"**

**~ Gandalf, "The King of the Golden Hall"**

* * *

"Ellacári?"

I spun around quickly, unnerved that with Mithrandir's new gracefulness and power, I had not noticed him sneak up behind me. My father's daughter indeed…I couldn't even sense a wizard behind me!

"You _are_ your father's daughter, young one. I should have been a bit noisier to announce my approach." I scoffed – ignoring the fact that he had just read my mind – but did not move from my place at the edge of our campsite (in which Gimli and Aragorn were snoring quite loudly). "Under normal circumstances, it would have been me saying that to you."

"These are not normal circumstances."

"Point taken."

Mithrandir stepped forward a few paces, before standing very still beside me. He had put on a light grey cloak over the brilliant white robes he had received from Lothlórien. The wizard had come bearing news of the Golden Wood, and the fate of Galadriel (of which Gimli was _very_ interested in). She had given him messages to both Aragorn and me: the Lady of the Galadhrim first told of Aragorn's path to war.

_Where now are the Half-Elven, Elessar, Elessar?  
__Why do thy kinsfolk wander afar?  
__Near is the hour when those Cursed should come forth,  
__And the Grey Company ride from the North.  
__But dark is the path appointed for thee:  
__The Dead watch the road that leads to the Sea.__  
_

Indeed, Lady Galadriel spoke in mysterious riddles…_She has seen something in her mirror…about Lord Elrond? About Elladan? Arwen? Elrohir?_ None of us knew, though I had a feeling that Mithrandir suspected something, if not everything.

However, it was her message to me that sent shivers up my spine.

_Ellacári Greenleaf, long under tree,  
__In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea!  
__If thou hearest the cry of the gulls once more,  
__Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more.__  
_

My father had long warned me of the infamous Sea Longing, felt most strongly by the Sindar and Silvan Elves. But all Elves – Noldo and Wood-Elf alike – felt the everlasting call to return to their ancestors…to Valinor.

I had not felt the unbearable, undeniable call of the Sea. Not yet, anyway. I had visited the Grey Havens a handful of times, and had even heard the cry of gulls, but never had I experienced the Call. There was a theory amongst Elves which said that you would not feel the Longing until Eru decided that you should go home. Some Elves had heard the cry thousands of times, like Círdan, but had never once felt the Longing. And with her riddle, Galadriel seemed to be warning me that the next time I saw the Sea…the next time I heard the gulls…that would be my end. That would be the instant when my heart would be irreparably torn from Middle-Earth and bonded forever to Valinor.

Everyone had tried to warn me of this pain. This nameless ache. Every time I befriended a new mortal, my always-worrying father would try to dissuade me from becoming too close. And it was no different with Estel: when I first met him as a child in Imladris. Father told me that when – _if_ (I told myself stubbornly) – I experienced the Sea Longing, my heart would always be halved: always torn between those whose place was resolutely here…and those who awaited me in Paradise over an expanse of ocean.

_Why must I choose?!_ I wanted to scream into the night. _Why?!_

"Because that is what Great Ilúvatar has chosen for thee, Princess of Mirkwood." I sighed in exasperation as the wizard, once again, read my thoughts. "My Lord, will you please – and I say this with the highest level of respect – keep out of my head?"

Mithrandir simply chortled. "Perhaps that is for the best…your mind is too complicated a place. And I say that with the highest level of respect."

I rolled my eyes at his teasing, but couldn't quite stop a smirk from emerging on my face. It soon disappeared, however, when my thoughts returned to the subject at hand. "The Creator cannot have such a complex path for me to follow: if he did, it would require much thought. And I do not believe that I would…" I desperately searched for an appropriate word to describe it. "…_matter_ to the Father of All."

Mithrandir looked at my pensive face with kind eyes. "Every Child of Middle-Earth _matters_—" he said the word as if it was inadequate "—to the One: and you have a very special place in his heart."

I raised a doubtful eyebrow: Eru Ilúvatar, the Creator of All, had a "special" place in his All-Knowing heart for _me_? The insolent, stubborn, and quite arrogant princess of Mirkwood?

The wizard sighed in disagreement, and I turned to see him frowning at me. I narrowed my eyes. "You read my mind again." Mithrandir shrugged, turning back towards Rohan's plains. "It was difficult not to: what with all the unwarranted self-loathing leaking from it."

I also looked out in the general direction of Edoras. We were silent for a few moments, the resurrected istar mulling over his own thoughts (and hopefully, not my own). I finally managed to return to the real problem that I had almost forgotten about. "What do you make of Lady Galadriel's message?"

Mithrandir raised an eyebrow. "I suppose that you mean your own riddle, not Aragorn's?" I didn't even bother answering the pointless question. _Of course._ I thought, knowing for sure that he would hear it.

The Maia cocked his head and thought for a few seconds, before finally speaking aloud his answer (which was quite unsatisfying to me). "I may suspect some hidden meanings, as I'm sure that you yourself do. The Lady has obviously looked in her mirror of these things: but you know that what she sees does not always come to pass."

I sighed, resting my hand on a drawn arrow simply for something to do with my hands. "Ai…but," I said, the real core of my doubts hitting me full force, "do you think that this is truly my chosen road?" Mithrandir raised an eyebrow, and I lifted an appeasing hand. "Let me explain…

"Galadriel tells of how I would feel the Sea Longing if I heard the gulls again," I continued. "But she also says for me to 'beware' of the Sea…almost like she is warning me that something I am doing is not right. Maybe that is not the right way to explain it…I don't know," I concluded, "but it seems to me that the Lady is trying to guide me _away_ from somewhere…or some_ones_?" I hinted, spinning around slowly and glancing at Aragorn and Gimli: still sleeping, and completely oblivious to my now intense doubts. "Is she asking me to stay away from the Sea? Or…or to go through with it anyway? To continue on this path and bear the consequences?"

Mithrandir was silent for a few seconds, before finally answering. "Lady Galadriel may be stoic and distant, but I know for certain that she cares for you greatly, Ellacári." He thought for another second before going on. "It may be that she is simply trying to save youfrom unwanted anguish. However," he continued, "that does not mean that it is _unneeded _anguish." I turned to study my companion's kind, lined face with confusion. Mithrandir placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Sometimes love makes us do reckless things, that is true. But other times, it forces us on paths that need to be tread…and with people we need to walk those paths with. It may be painful, and you may lose part of yourself on the way, but in the end, it's always worth it. I believe you are doing the right thing, traveling with these two. They will not fail you…and neither will I."

I looked into his deep, fathomless, yet startling blue eyes. "Hannon le, Mithrandir."

Mithrandir smiled kindly, clapping my shoulder again before turning back to the camp. "Do you want me to relieve you in a few hours?"

I shook my head. "Nay, that isn't necessary. I'll keep watch for the rest of the night…I have much to think about."

A small, "wizardly" chuckle once more echoed throughout the near empty plains – and forced a wry smile onto my own face.

* * *

The next day, the four of us found ourselves just a few more leagues from Edoras: the almighty capital of Rohan. I couldn't help but smile in anticipation, even when our mission here was more than just "a friendly visit."

"Edoras…" Mithrandir murmured as we slowed to a brief halt. "…and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Théoden's mind is now very strong." The wizard's eyes narrowed in contempt at the mention of his traitorous, ex-leader.

My eyes skimmed over the city like a gust of wind brushing over a stream. There seemed to be something that I was missing…something that wasn't quite right (besides the palpable undertone of dark magic, of course). I cocked my head in consideration. It appeared to be weeping murmurs, asking for…what? Aid? But from who?

"Be careful what you say. Do not look for welcome here." I glanced at the tense, ominous istar beside me; then looked back at the almost _aloof _silhouette of Meduseld. I raised an eyebrow, tilting my head again. "So fair…so cold," I breathed, not quite knowing where the words were coming from, "…like a morning pale spring still clinging to winter's chill." I blinked, shaking my head as if lifting off some mysterious influence.

Mithrandir flashed a searching glance at me, but the way his gaze quickly left my face was an obvious giveaway that he knew more than he was telling. _The sneaky old wizard…and yes, I hope that you heard that, Mithrandir!_

If the Grey Pilgrim had read my mind, he did not show it. _Hmm…omniscient _and _subtle…_

* * *

It only took a few more minutes to reach the inner sanctum of Edoras, but when we arrived, as Mithrandir predicted, we had a less-than-warm welcome.

As we silently passed the cold villagers of Rohan's capital, a cloud of fear, anger, and _prejudice_ descended on top of my friends and me. These people hated us…without any real reason at all. I couldn't understand it: we hadn't done anything to hurt them (not _yet_, anyway…but I'm sure _I_ would if those men kept looking at me like that).

Mithrandir bravely – with his head held high – led us through the roads that wound up to the Golden Hall of Meduseld. Aragorn, Gimli, and I were a lot more reserved. Gimli had stiffened behind me some time ago, watching the villager's cold and _hungry_ eyes with a wary gaze. Aragorn was glaring daggers at the few men that dared look at me with that hunger: and they shrunk back from the penetrating eyes of Isildur's heir. I truthfully was not worried about the men's voracious looks (they would never be able to overpower me); and because of that, a much more interesting sight quickly caught my attention.

A woman, who seemed strangely familiar, was standing in front of the Hall: detached from the other ladies in this city. My Elven eyes could make out every false layer of her façade, and those below it; every single grimace carved cruelly into her features. This woman was in pain…and I had a feeling that I knew why. Her pale, almost sallow, golden hair whipped around her form. And as I searched deep within her sharp, bronze-colored eyes, it seemed to me that this mere mortal woman _knew_ who I was…and why I was there.

I turned to meet Aragorn's questioning gaze: he had seen the strange young girl as well. I shook my head, entering his mind without difficulty. _I don't know, mellon-nîn…I don't know._

We both spun our heads around to watch the woman of Rohan again, but she had mysteriously disappeared from sight. Her presence was replaced with the foreboding sight of a trampled flag: the flag of Rohan.

_Well, if that isn't a message from the Valar, I don't know what is._

"You'd find more cheer in a graveyard." Gimli muttered from behind me, and I nodded slowly in agreement, before replying. "But that must mean we're in the right place, at the right time." Mithrandir nodded almost imperceptibly ahead of us, but we caught the gesture. King Théoden must be desperately in need of our help if Edoras had slipped this far into the darkness of Curunîr's clutches.

I subtly aided Gimli in dismounting Arod (the horse seemed very excited to be home), and the man, dwarf, wizard, and elf made their way up the steps to Meduseld. To my eye, it seemed as if we were not very threatening to the peoples of Rohan. We were not at all making dangerous gestures or comments: in fact, we hadn't done much at all since we arrived!

The four of us reached the top step, and about a dozen warriors in full armor and uniform stepped out from inside the Hall. It occurred to me that we were now standing on the very stone the mysterious woman had stood on mere minutes ago.

The leader of the posse, a man with unkempt and ragged brown hair, walked forward a few steps. Mithrandir sighed – exasperated, yet resigned – as the captain crossed his arms in a definite sign of higher rank (though I was certain I detected some regret in the man's movements). "I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame…by order of…Gríma Wormtongue."

Ah yes, there it was again: the small undertone of reluctance in the man's voice. I also noticed how he would not meet any of our eyes: and he tried to avoid my face entirely. _Again, there was that delusion the Rohirrim had of Elvish witchcraft…it isn't really _inaccurate_, but it is quite annoying._

I saw Mithrandir's upper lip twitch in irritation at the name previously mentioned. _Gríma Wormtongue…what a peculiar name. He must be an enemy: for if he were a friend, Mithrandir's reaction would be very different._ And that assumption appeared to be correct. The wizard seemed to be very tense all of the sudden, and a small glint of anger appeared in the timeless grey eyes.

But my friend quickly pulled on the calm, _innocent_ façade of a weary old man. The change was so abrupt that the men of Rohan missed it completely. Mithrandir nodded at the three of us: a signal for us to do as the man said. Although I sincerely regretted it (and I was quickly planning my revenge if any of them were to so much as _cough_ on the bow of Galadriel), I removed my weapons from my person.

My twin knives went first, and then my bow and quiver: both given to a very intimidated man. I crossed my arms to signal that I was done, but Aragorn elbowed me in my stomach lightly. I turned to glare at him, but he simply took out the hidden dagger in his boot, and handed it to one of the soldiers with a pointed look at me. I raised an eyebrow, as if to say, _All of them? Even—_

The man nodded in completion to my thought. I sighed, taking out the small dagger attached to my ankle, and – much to the Rohirrim's chagrin – a small knife concealed near my upper chest. When I removed _that_ one, I thought for sure that the young boy in front of me was going to faint. I narrowed my eyes at him and smirked: he paled as a response.

Mithrandir rolled his eyes at our actions, but nevertheless, made to continue into the Hall of Meduseld. The man, who still hadn't introduced himself, put out a restraining hand on the wizard's chest. Again, with that same hint of regret, he said, "Your staff."

Mithrandir immediately pulled the innocent guise tighter around himself. His hands began to tremble slightly with their "frailty". Gimli coughed to hide the obvious snort of laughter. Aragorn had a little more luck controlling his amusement, and I, the daughter of Thranduil, was stoic as usual.

"Eh?" Mithrandir exclaimed in false surprise, leaning more heavily on his staff than necessary. "Oh, no…you would not part an old man from his walking stick? Hmm?"

The man of Rohan raised a knowing eyebrow – considering whether he should let the lie slide, or do something about it – and looked at the four of us collectively. I guess he must have decided that our intent was purer than this "Gríma's", for he nodded in supposed ignorance, yet we all knew better.

Mithrandir gripped onto his staff a little tighter, still playing up the weak, helpless old man charade, and motioned for the three of us to follow him. But not before Aragorn and I caught the fast, almost imperceptible wink he shot at us. Somehow, this time, I couldn't resist a small smile.

I casually – _teasingly_ – reached out my arm and elbow for the "weary" wizard to lean upon, and Mithrandir did so with a telling twinkle in his eyes. To the unknowing outsider, it would seem as if I was simply a kind young woman aiding her elderly mentor into the Hall of Edoras. But to the Three Hunters and Grey Pilgrim, it was battle strategy. We all knew that this encounter was likely to break out into a fight: even if it was nothing more than a distraction for our real purpose.

Mithrandir gripped my arm loosely and with ease as we strolled slowly into the Hall of Meduseld, and were greeted with a quite melancholic and discouraging sight. The hall itself was quite magnificent: almost exactly as I remembered it from all those centuries ago. Tall, quite magnificent stone pillars towered over our heads, with an earthly wooden floor leading to the center of the room and to the King.

The Hall must have been a beautiful and active place before evil had gripped the city. I could just imagine light shining through the open, glass ceiling – which was adorned with simple, wooden beams. I could imagine the bright sun filtering through the windows on both sides of us, warming the wood floor and creating a kind, peaceful atmosphere. But now, after Curunîr had choked the life out of this place, Gimli's previous observation came haunting back to me: _You'd find more cheer in a graveyard._

The once lively Hall of Meduseld looked terribly like a crypt.

The only signs of life were the ominous – and once again, _hungry_ – men standing to the sidelines, and the King himself sitting on the throne at the center of the walkway. King Théoden of Rohan looked _elderly_, much more so than Gandalf. His ghostly white hair fell over his crinkled face with no control whatsoever, and the "mighty" leader was hunched over like a…_vagrant_.

I winced at the king's obviously neglected body, and glared angrily at the snake-of-a-man sitting on a bench beside the throne. He seemed much too close to the frail king for my liking; yet he also seemed to be the only thing preventing the man from keeling over, so managed to restrain myself from shooting him right then and there.

The black cloaked man leaned closer to King Théoden, and whispered at a volume he believed only the ruler could hear, "My lord…Gandalf the Grey is coming. He is the herald of woe…" I shuddered at Gríma Wormtongue's slithery and dark voice. It did not have the same deep, wicked pitch that Curunîr's tone did (and I had heard _that_ voice before); but there was definitely an undertone of corruption and trickery. _So _you_ are Curunîr's lackey…_

Mithrandir, still walking with his arm around my own, spoke in a loud, powerful tone: a drastic contrast between Gríma's voice. "The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King." Just as the wizard began speaking, his other three companions heard a loud creak, and then an unconcealed slam. Aragorn, Gimli and I both spun around in perfect synchronization, eyeing the now shut door with hidden irritation. The guards began walking alongside us in the shadows of the pillars: stalking us like we were their prey. _Oh, so _that's_ how this is going to play out._

Wormtongue leaned closer to the king and whispered (again in a tone he thought only Théoden could hear), "He is not welcome here."

King Théoden, for the first time since our arrival, rose slightly from his hunched over position, and managed to slur out, "Why…should I welcome you…Gandalf Stormcrow?"

Gríma nodded encouragingly, patting the man's arm with supposed comfort, and leaning closer to the ruler to whisper, "A just question, my _liege_."

The black-haired deceiver stood from his place, and stalked towards my friends and I. "Late is the hour in which this _conjurer_ chooses to appear…" He hissed, striding forward in a distinctly serpent-like manner. The man raised a dark eyebrow at me: or, more likely, my _body_. His gaze roamed across my physique and a small, hungry smirk appeared on his face. _What is with these bastards?!_ I sputtered to Aragorn with thought-speak. _Are all the men in Rohan philanderers?!_ Aragorn didn't answer, but his fists noticeably tightened, as did Gimli's: they both glared at Gríma in a defensive manner. _Oh good Elbereth,_ I thought exasperatedly. _I appreciate your protectiveness, Estel…but now is really not the time!_

Saruman's servant was only about a meter away from us now. "'Lathspell' I name him," Wormtongue continued, his eyes still occasionally glancing in my direction, especially now that we were so close to each other. "Ill news is an ill guest."

Mithrandir, who had obviously had enough of this stupidity and womanizing, released the tenuous grasp he had on my arm, strode forward and spat in the other man's face, "Be silent! Keep your forked tongue behind you teeth! I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm."

If Wormtongue was astounded by the wizard's frank and disgusted tone, he was even more astounded when Mithrandir whipped out his well-concealed staff and raised it against the man, and started to advance on him, and the king beyond.

"His staff!" Gríma stumbled backwards, eyeing my friend's source of magic with fear. "I _told_ you to take the wizard's _staff_!" He said in a way that could only be described as whining. The men – presumably those that were loyal to Wormtongue – propelled themselves forward with the intention of preventing Mithrandir from helping the king, but Gimli, Aragorn and I soon put a stop to that.

Fists connected with tender flesh as my two companions and I began to ward off the guards trying to reach the wizard and king (and the spineless fool near the two). I noticed absentmindedly that the King's personal guard – composed of the men who had greeted us at the door – did not move in to fight us as well.

It did not matter, really. The three of us could have easily beaten them as well. At first the men who were focused on me did not try to "injure" me: more likely, they were trying to hold me down (a task which they first deemed to be easy). I could see into each of their minds: images of a helpless young woman squirming uselessly in their strong arms, before she ceased her fighting with a small whimper, turned and looked into the man's eyes with fiery passion…

_Ugh_, I thought, slamming my fist into the face of a man who had particularly dirty thoughts. _It's true! Most of Eorl's people have become no more than studs and skirt-chasers!_

After that first, brutal, satisfying attack, the guards circling me seemed to realize that I could, in fact, knock them senseless, and that I would with no hesitation. I smirked, and proceeded to punch one's stomach to my left, and kick the chest of another that sent him flying into a pillar, and to the floor. I was not even worrying about Gimli and Aragorn as I had in other fights: this "battle" was almost cruelly easy.

Amidst the riot, Mithrandir moved towards King Théoden with unnerving calm, holding his staff out towards the poisoned leader. "Théoden, son of Thengel! Too long have you sat in the shadows…" Théoden's eyes cleared slightly, almost imperceptibly, before they were covered once again in darkness: Curunîr was tightening his grip on the king.

Aragorn, Gimli and I finished fighting at almost the exact same moment. Aragorn sent his assailant sprawling to the floor; my fist connected with a man's jaw directly behind me; and Gimli kicked and stood on a trembling Gríma Wormtongue's chest, hissing out as he did so, "I would stay still if I were you." The dwarf glanced at me quickly, and I nodded: I sent a small wave of magic to slam into Gríma's already weak form. As I expected, he yelped, and went limp underneath the dwarf's foot. _Good riddance._

All eyes were glued to Mithrandir and Théoden as the wizard walked closer, his steps heavy with purpose. "Harken to me!" The king met my friend's eyes, and Gandalf held his staff higher. "I release you," the wizard commanded, lowering his head in concentration as I felt a heavy blast of magic fly towards Théoden, "from this spell."

For a moment, I believed that it had actually worked. But when an obviously demented King of Rohan began laughing maniacally, Aragorn, Gimli, and I, along with an irritated istar, knew that Curunîr's control was too strong for a simple "grey" spell. "You have no power here…Gandalf the Grey."

In a split-second, the calm, kind Mithrandir I had always known disappeared, only to be replaced by Gandalf the White. The now furious Maia threw off his top cloak, revealing brilliant white robes that, with their brightness, blinded a convoluted Théoden and forced him back into his throne with a startled shout. I couldn't help a small grin as my friend's new, infinitely more powerful magic pulsed through the room, just as it had in Fangorn.

The istar focused his staff on Théoden/Curunîr. "I will draw you, Saruman," he spat, "as poison is drawn from a wound." The king gasped and squirmed in his throne as Mithrandir moved closer and closer to his shriveled form.

To my right, a woman rushed into the room: it was the golden haired one from before, she who bore such sadness and grief upon her shoulders at the entrance to the Hall of Meduseld. The woman's face was struck with fear at the king's (though really Curunîr's) agony; and without much thought, she leapt towards Théoden. Or…she _tried_ to leap towards Théoden. Fortunately, Aragorn was standing closer to her than I was, and he easily restrained her. "Wait!" My friend hissed at the mortal woman, and she stopped struggling, instead choosing to watch the scene with wide, horror-filled eyes.

When King Théoden spoke again, his voice was not the crippled, raspy one that had been present before. It was strong, cunning…and undeniably evil. "If I go…Théoden _dies_." Curunîr spat at Mithrandir's towering body in front of him. This, of course, made my friend angrier, if that was even possible. The wizard hit Curunîr/Théoden with another, very powerful blast of magic (to tell you the truth, I was astounded that the already-weak man had not been knocked unconscious by now). "You will not kill me—" Mithrandir said dangerously, "—and you will not kill him."

The simple, wooden throne was now creaking under the intense force it was being put through. Théoden, continuing to speak in Curunîr's poisonous voice, hunched forward again, trying to rise from his seat against Mithrandir's onslaught (and failing miserably). He gasped with the effort of speech, but managed to spit out, "Rohan is mine!"

Mithrandir growled and slammed his scepter towards the wizard/king with another blast of magic. "Be gone!" The resurrected Maia commanded in a powerful voice. The throne – and the whole hall, it seemed – creaked and swayed ominously as the magical force was pushed to it's peak. All the men (and two women) in Edoras's Hall were silent and still with tension as the amazing scene unfolded within two seconds.

Théoden (now completely controlled by Curunîr) leapt at Mithrandir with a scream of rage, hands out and clawing wildly. But before I could even _try_ to retaliate (with my own burst of magic, presumably) Mithrandir held his staff against the poisoned man and a blast that seemed cataclysmic to my mystic-sensitive mind echoed throughout the Hall of Meduseld as King Theoden flew backwards into the throne with a resounding crash.

Three still, achingly tense seconds ticked by, before Mithrandir let out a strangled sigh of relief, and a moment later, King Théoden began to pitch forward, moaning deliriously, but obviously quite himself again.

The other woman in the room who had been restrained thus far in Estel's grasp shook off my friend, and just barely managed to catch the king and prevent him from collapsing on the floor. Gimli and I slowly walked from our places at the edge near the pillars – the dwarf dragging along a whimpering, yet still limp, Gríma Wormtongue – and moved next to Aragorn, who stood behind Mithrandir and the steps.

The woman of Edoras managed to prop up the (still very weak) Théoden, and he slumped against her reliable arm. She resolutely held him up – making me believe that she was either a daughter, or another close relative – and slowly but surely, King Théoden's body underwent the aging process…_backwards_. His once tangled and matted grey hair shrank in length…and then began turning golden brown as its natural color. Most, if not all of the wrinkles vanished from his face, and his once clouded, whitish eyes grew sharper into a stunning blue.

Now that the man's true appearance had been revealed, I realized that while he did not have such a startling resemblance to Eorl as Èomer did, the current King of Rohan _did_ have a regal and proud bearing, much like my old mortal friend had. His face seemed softened with kindness, and yet hardened with war at the same time. It was quite an interesting paradox.

The woman – I was now presuming she was his daughter – smiled brightly and radiantly at the King's restored and healed form. She cupped his cheek in her hand, and I could tell that she was just barely stopping tears from pooling in her eyes. Théoden smiled in recognition after a few seconds of confusion, and whispered in a tone that only the woman and I could really discern, "I know your face…" And then, in a louder voice, the woman's name. "Èowyn…"

_Ah._ I noted inwardly, though I didn't dare show emotion on my physical façade. _Her name…Èowyn…she must be the _sister_ of Èomer._ That would make her the King's niece…_I wonder if the King has any children of his own…_

The King turned his head away from Èowyn's teary face to look upon Mithrandir, Aragorn, Gimli, and myself. A look of pure confusion and bewilderment appeared on his face, and although I could not quite hear his thoughts yet, I could certainly imagine what they resembled. _A man…a dwarf…a she-elf…and a wizard? What—?_

"Gandalf…?" Mithrandir smiled kindly. "Breathe the free air again, my friend."

And so, with Èowyn's aid, King Théoden rose from the throne he had rotted in for so long, and stood before his warriors and guards gathered in the Hall. I could tell that his excessive robes and furs weighed him down much, but I was sure that he would not admit it. _He must be very strong, to have survived Curunîr's influence for this long…and emerge relatively unscathed…_

Mithrandir stepped backwards down the steps as Èowyn helped the king stand a little bit straighter and taller to address the Hall. "Dark have been my dreams of late…" Théoden still looked extremely perplexed, though less so than before. The man looked at his slightly trembling hands with evident confusion in his eyes: as if he was surprised that he was so weak and unused to actual movement.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better," Mithrandir said from in front of the steps, "if they grasped your sword." Théoden still looked rather confused, before a new fire was ignited in his eyes as a man walked past us and towards him: it was the captain from the entrance. He held aloft the king's scabbard, and a few seconds passed before Théoden gathered enough strength (mentally and physically, I believe) to grasp the hilt of the weapon.

The masterful way he drew the sword from it's gold plated scabbard simply demanded respect and honor. Beside Gimli and me, a sniveling, fearful Wormtongue desperately tried to make an escape: to somehow spare himself from the King, and his sword's wrath that was sure to come any second now.

King Theoden examined his weapon with a satisfied smile, and then, just as I predicted, he turned his menacing gaze towards a cowering Gríma Wormtongue.

* * *

King Théoden wasted no time whatsoever in taking out his vengeance on the idiot who betrayed him: I can give the man _that_. The ruler of Rohan grabbed Wormtongue by the throat _himself_, and strode out of the Hall. He then proceeded to slam open the door – trailing a sputtering Gríma behind him – and threw the lesser man down the steps.

I heard a sickeningly satisfying _crunch_ come from the thrown man's stomach as Mithrandir, Aragorn, Gimli, and I hurried behind the raging king and emerged on the steps ourselves: along with Èowyn, and the congregation of loyal guards. A small crowd had gathered in Edoras, and the villagers seemed much more alive now that they saw their King was released from his advisor's influence. And the sight of said advisor breaking a few ribs also must have cheered them considerably.

Gimli winced theatrically as Wormtongue hit his skull against the stone, and muttered to Aragorn and me, "Whatdaya think that damage is on _that_?" I grinned lightly, and shrugged. "A few cracked ribs…maybe a concussion." "Definitely a broken wrist." Estel piped in with a satisfied smirk.

All four of us watched as King Théoden stalked down the stairs: treading heavily, yet still deadly and madly furious. Wormtongue gasped in anguish, but had enough sense in that stupid head of his to begin retreating, regardless of his injuries.

"Argh…!" Gríma groaned, clutching his stomach in pain. "I have only _ever_ served you, my Lord—" He continued crawling backwards, and the obvious note of fear in his lies amused me. _Theoden will not give a second chance to this man: I am sure of it._ I mused inwardly, not realizing that someone else had heard my confident thought.

I saw Aragorn look at askance at me with confusion, and some small note of…_worry_? _Oh no,_ I thought with dread. _He must_ _not be thinking of _sparing_ this leech!_

King Théoden stepped closer to a cowering Gríma, and then Estel stepped away from us and towards the confrontation. I grabbed a hold of his arm to try to stop him, but Estel – being the most stubborn human on all of Arda – shook me off dismissively. _Damn him, _I thought, thoroughly irritated. But of course I couldn't just let him approach that deceiver _alone_…

"Your witchcraft," Théoden hissed angrily, "would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" Gríma was now obviously desperate to survive, in any way possible, so he gasped out, "Send me not from your side!"

The king did not bother responding, for at that moment, he raised his sword to slaughter the terrified man, and was about to swing the final stroke when…Aragorn intervened. He grabbed the king's arm, and managed to stay his blow. "No! No my Lord! Let him go!" Theoden gasped in temporary anger at the ranger's actions, before the latter quickly explained the supposed "logic" in the choice. "Enough blood has been spilt on his account."

The king looked at Aragorn with a strange mixture of emotions: anger, bewilderment, and much turmoil. But the Heir of Isildur's strange, yet merciful judgment appeared to make some sort of sense to the leader of Rohan: and so, Theoden did not slay Gríma Wormtongue.

Aragorn seemed to have his hands full at that moment, so I reluctantly decided to step in. I strode past the two kings, and – grudgingly dismissing the idea of simply kicking Gríma down the rest of the steps – extended a benevolent hand towards the man on the ground.

But instead of taking it as I had originally expected it, Wormtongue just had to anger me further. The ungrateful bastard spit on my hand, and hissed much too loudly in a city full of superstitious mortals, "Get away from me, witch!"

I narrowed my eyes in pure contempt, and clenched my other fist as fury burned within me. Almost against my will, two dark slashes appeared on Gríma's cheeks, and hot, _satisfying _blood spilled down his cheeks.

With a small glare from me, the blood heated to boiling temperature and scorched the man's jowls. He screamed, either in agony or fear of me, I could not tell, and clawed at his face to stop the burning.

My emotions cold and stoic, I said in a calm voice, "Drego." **| Get out |** Even though I knew that Gríma, though a servant of the White Wizard, would not understand the Sindarin, I'm sure that I conveyed the message pretty clearly. The bleeding and fearful man scrambled to his feet and fled from my (apparently terrifying) form.

Mithrandir crept up behind me, and rested a calming and restraining arm on my shoulder. "Ellacári." _Enough._ The word that was not of my own devising came to my mind unbidden, but I immediately released the pent up energy that was still churning within my stomach as it commanded me to.

I nodded slowly, closing my eyes and swallowing deeply. I ignored Èowyn's alarmed and slightly disturbed gaze that penetrated my very soul. I ignored Aragorn's worried thoughts…and I ignored Gimli's astounded expression. I simply followed Mithrandir quietly and slowly up the steps, barely listening as Estel shouted, "Hail, Théoden, King!" and the whole of Edoras knelt before their newly healed leader.

I would have continued walking, as I was suddenly inexplicably weary…but one, small, seemingly-innocent question asked by Théoden made me stop in my tracks. Those two sentences suddenly made everything seem clearer and much easier to comprehend…while at the same time, made my heart flood with pity and sorrow.

"Where is Théodred?" The King of Rohan asked worriedly. "Where is my son?"

* * *

Translations –

**Drego – Get out**

* * *

**Word-Count: 6,475**

**Okay, again, I am SO sorry that it took me this long to update! I originally finished this chapter relatively quickly, but the first part (the conversation with Gandalf), completely sucked. So I had to go back and redo like, half the chapter. But it was all worth it in the end!**

**Anyway, just a few little things that I wanted to mention. First one is about the messages from Galadriel. I knew when I started this part of the story that I wanted to include the infamous Sea Longing (which wasn't included in the movie, yet was a big part in the books). But since I had ****also**** decided that Aragorn, Gimli, and Cári would be going on the Paths of the Dead alone (a.k.a. without the Dúnedain), I needed to change Aragorn's riddle/message slightly.**

**Alright, I'll stop babbling now. Again, please rate and review: deeply appreciated! And until next time…**

**Naamarie!**

**~CC. **


	20. These Days of Death

**Disclaimer: No recognizable characters or setting, or plot…(you get it) are mine. They all belong to either Peter Jackson, New Line Cinema, or the—ultimate genius—J.R.R. Tolkien!**

**Alright, I ****truly**** did try to update sooner (all those reviews were great motivation—thanks you guys!)…but it didn't really work out, as you can see. I'm sorry, really I am, but I've had projects, and essays, and parties (ok, stop glaring…); and to top it all off, there's STILL snow outside, and I've been getting killer headaches almost every day (I've been popping Tylenol like they're Tick-Tacks! *groans*). But anyway, I guess you don't want to commiserate with me…alas, I must bare these burdens alone…**

**Oh, and here's another, quick note: I changed a little (but significant) detail in Chapter 15 (****the Anduin****). Now, Ellacári's age has been changed to 6,508: making her older than both Elrond ****and**** his father, Eärendil. I suggest that you go back and reread that one little part, because in this chapter, I will be addressing the wonderful mystery of Cári's past (heh…yay? I'm actually not quite sure whether I like the way I set it up or not…but anyway, there's no turning back now!)**

Chapter 20 – These Days of Death

* * *

"…**Behold! I go forth, and it seems like to be my last riding…I have no child. Théodred my son has been thus slain…alas, such woe…but to some one I must now entrust my people that I leave behind, to rule them in my place…"**

**~ Théoden, "The King of the Golden Hall"**

* * *

Sadly, it seemed as if my previous assumptions were indeed correct. King Théoden _did_ have a son…or, at least, he had _had_ a son. From what I could gather from Mithrandir and Èowyn, the King's heir, Théodred, had gone out just a fortnight ago to fight the orcs of Isengard, and when he returned…

His injuries were apparently too grievous for even Edoras's most skilled healers, and he had died within a week of recovery: in a deep, comatose state. Needless to say, Théoden was more devastated than any of the Rohirrim had originally thought. The king had not even been in his right mind when his son passed on to Mandos's Halls.

_I wonder if the Rohirrim even call "it" Mandos's Halls,_ I thought absently as I walked silently down Meduseld's steps in the funeral procession. _They probably have another name entirely for the Place After Death. Not that it really matters, I suppose. Théodred, son of Théoden is dead…and I lament: I have never even met the boy, and yet his death grieves me._

Aragorn's cool hand suddenly clasped my own as we marched solemnly behind the bier carrying Théodred, Second Marshal of the Riddermark. King Théoden walked directly behind his son's body, silent and seemingly cold, yet I knew the real emotions swirling inside the man. Behind him strode Mithrandir, his hands clasped in front of him as a sign of respect for the dead, and then there were the three of us: Aragorn, Gimli and me. I could not truly understand why we had been placed nearer to the front of the procession than other, possibly better known villagers of Rohan. But Mithrandir just shook his head when I inquired about it, so I let the matter drop.

To be honest, it was quite a relief to have Aragorn and Gimli on either side of me. Death had always been a constant and seemingly familiar thing to me – indeed, it was to all Firstborn. Because we had the ability to live forever (and often did), the passings of both mortals and Elves surrounded us relentlessly. I, myself, had lived through war, disease, famine, along with natural disasters like fires, floods, violent thunder and snowstorms…I had probably witnessed more deaths in my lifetime than anyone else remaining on Arda: beside, perhaps, Celeborn and Mithrandir. But I had always been able to put on a stoic expression in the face of such bereavement: and, when necessary (which was often), slay as many men, goblins, or orcs as needed. _Usually _I would be able to do this…but whenever I witnessed the death of such a beloved mortal, as this prince of Rohan was, I was reminded by the horrifying fact that my own finite, human friends would indeed eventually die, like this man. And _that_ was what made my heart ache with pain.

I will admit that the connection between Théodred's grisly death, and the passing I feared would consume Aragorn was painfully evident.

_But Estel is _here_, with me, right now,_ I thought stubbornly, gripping my friend's comforting hand just a little bit tighter. _There is no need to be such a coward, Ellacári. _Aragorn sighed softly in disagreement at that last thought, and I barely resisted rolling my eyes at my friend's nosiness and concern.

As we reached the end of Théodred's funeral procession, and drew closer to the tomb where he would forever rest, Èowyn began to sing powerfully, grief and sorrow lacing her words.

"Bealocwealm hafaö fréone frecan forth onsended,  
Giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende…"

Mithrandir quietly and subtly motioned for us to stop walking and to allow King Théoden to continue forward. The King seemed emotionless and cold as he drifted to the other side of the tomb, and the warriors carrying him lowered the litter to waist-height: preparing to rest him in the grave.

"On Meduselde, Þæt he ma no wære,  
Dæt he ma nowere is, Þurh niedig rest…"

I caught some words of the Common Tongue in Èowyn's lament, and I was able to put together the basic meaning of the words she sung with such passionate sadness. Slowly, and with no words spoken, the Rohirrim warriors passed Théodred's body to the women of their city. These women – no more than young girls – lifted their prince with such pride and strength: I truly admired them, along with Èowyn.

"And mægen deorost.  
Bealo…"

And with that last, broken note from the niece of Théoden, the Prince of Rohan was sealed in his tomb: forever resting in the everlasting sleep of death. All those gathered simply stood there for a few seconds as Èowyn's voice died off with a small echo: a mortal woman sobbed somewhere in the crowd, but nobody said anything about it, or tried to quiet her. A short minute ticked by…and as I stood stiffly, quietly in that field, I could almost _feel_ the remains of the long dead resting underfoot – which unnerved me more than I was comfortable admitting. The mere fact that these were royal, noble Kings of Rohan – some of which, I might have actually known personally – was just a bit unsettling.

Mithrandir turned to look at the three of us, and I thought almost absently (and certainly not for the first time), _What a strange group we are. A wizard, an elleth, a dwarf, and a man. We must seem very peculiar to the Rohirrim indeed._ Aragorn must have seen some sort of hidden signal in the wizard's actions, for he squeezed my hand just a little harder, before leading me (with Gimli following) through the crowds and towards the Hall of Meduseld.

I sighed inwardly in relief as we waded through the group. I wouldn't have said anything to my companions about my slight distress; but apparently Aragorn could sense my discomfort. _Looks like Estel knows me better than I thought._

Aragorn smiled kindly as the three of us managed to clear the crowd, and whispered to me. "I always have."

Gimli grumbled slightly as we reached the top steps of Meduseld, but patted me on the arm awkwardly, as if sensing my uneasiness. "Come on, lass," he muttered. "The Dead should not force such suffering upon the living."

* * *

"I am sorry…that was uncalled for. I should not have shown such emotion at that funeral."

"That is ridiculous, lass," Gimli grumbled from the other side of the table in the Hall of Meduseld. "But I didn't even know the man!" I protested. "It doesn't matter…" Estel insisted. "The people that were buried in those tombs were your friends…of course you would have unpleasant memories of that place. I'd be surprised if you hadn't been uncomfortable." He wrapped an arm comfortingly around my shoulders. "Are you sure you're okay?" I rolled my eyes slightly, before opening my mouth to reply.

My reassurance, however, was unexpectedly interrupted by a sudden BANG, as the doors to the Hall were flung open, and a flurry of people rushed through.

Aragorn, Gimli and I automatically jumped to our feet, as we were the only ones resting in the Hall. Èowyn had been visiting a friend, and Théoden and Mithrandir were talking over Théodred's grave. But now, all three of them burst through the doors, fussing over two bundles that Èowyn and the wizard held gingerly…

"Aragorn! Cári! Don't just stand there: they need Elvish aid!" Mithrandir ordered hastily, and my friend and I immediately jumped into action.

The wizard laid his bundle, an unconscious boy, in Aragorn's arms. Èowyn meant to continue carrying a trembling, obviously in shock, little girl, but I reached my arms out and motioned for the child. Èowyn seemed distrustful for a second, before she nodded in acquiescence.

I lifted the shaking girl and hugged her close to my chest. Her skin was cold, and clammy…might have a fever. I laid her down carefully on my lap, and said quickly to Aragorn, "Boe urui aes ah sogenne. Ah—" "—athel na dad i ring, ai." He finished for me in the same tongue. **| They need hot food and drink. And— | | -herbs to bring down the chills, ai |**

Aragorn turned to Èowyn and Gimli. "Please fetch some hot water and prepare some soup. It looks like they haven't eaten in days…" Gimli looked like he was going to argue, but Èowyn simply nodded grimly. Gimli sighed once, before following the woman to find what we required. The little girl had almost stopped trembling, and her skin had returned to its normal pallor, just by being close to my Elvish light.

_Good…this fever might just be caused by exhaustion and shock._

When Èowyn and Gimli returned, they brought with them hot, meaty bowls of soup, and a pail of water. Aragorn heated the latter, and crumbled healing herbs, before sprinkling and mixing them together.

Théoden and Mithrandir had sat down in two chairs at the front of the Hall, watching rather dumbly as the four of us handled the situation easily.

Èowyn and I sat down next to the children (the boy had regained consciousness with Aragorn's ministrations), and I rubbed slow circles in the girl's back, as she and the boy gulped down large mouthfuls of sustenance.

Èowyn smiled at me kindly, if still with a hint of wariness. _Probably because of my actions with Wormtongue…curse that man…_I smiled back at her, saying in a small murmur as we comforted the children, "Greetings, Woman of Rohan…I am Ellacári Thranduiliel…you are the Lady Èowyn?" The other looked stunned at the fact that I had actually spoken to her, but she nodded nervously.

"Yes…" she whispered, still not meeting my eyes. "I am sorry about your cousin…" I said, still trying to be as kind and non-threatening as possible. The effect was a triumph: the woman nodded sadly, and when I put a hand on her shoulder, she didn't flinch.

Before I could try to deepen the conversation, the small boy began mumbling soft words in a language I couldn't understand. _The Rohirrim's tongue…_Èowyn immediately took over, whispering questions to the children in the same tongue.

_Now I know how humans feel when I speak in Elvish…this is rather irritating._

A few minutes passed; in that time, I established that all the children had needed was a nice, hot meal, and they were now in Èowyn's more than capable hands. I rose from my seat at the table, gently stroking the girl's hair before I left, and moved to stand next to Aragorn and Gimli.

The former put a gentle hand on my shoulder, gently pulling me close to whisper, "You did not answer my question…" I rolled my eyes, but a small smile graced my features regardless. "Yes." I whispered back, "Yes, I am." The man smiled in satisfaction, watching silently as Théoden and Mithrandir conversed quietly, and Èowyn questioned the children in kind tones.

Èowyn finally rose (rather wearily) and approached her uncle and the wizard with a sorrowful expression. "They had no warning. They were unarmed. Now the Wildmen are moving through the westfold; burning as they go…every rick, cot, and tree." She looked down with increasing sadness, and as she spoke, I felt an overwhelming urge to sit next to these children again. I followed said urge, and gracefully reclined near the young girl: almost immediately she looked at me with wide blue eyes (that made my heart melt), and whimpered, "Where's mama?" I sighed inwardly, repressing the desire to hug her—instead settling for slowly stroking her hair. "Sídh, sídh…" **| Peace, peace… |** I murmured. "Hush…" I said a few seconds after, for it occurred to me that she wouldn't understand the Sindarin.

Mithrandir sighed. "This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash. All the more potent for he is driven mad by fear of Sauron." I nodded in agreement; Gimli began to eat some leftover stew; and Aragorn simply sighed inwardly.

Mithrandir continued to counsel the king. "Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children." The wizard tightened his grip on his staff. "You must fight!" He concluded in a persuasive plea.

King Théoden clenched and unclenched his hands. It was unusually difficult for me to read this man, I had noticed. I could read his physical actions, of course: but mentally, his defenses were especially hard to breach. _That seems strange, considering how Curunîr controlled him…but who knows how long it took for that wizard to break the king? Besides, now that I think of it, it probably just runs in their family…_Yes, this was probably true. I couldn't read Èomer or Èowyn very well either: Eorl had been nearly impossible when alive and at his full strength.

"You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak," Aragorn spoke calmly, yet persuasively. "Èomer is loyal to you," the ranger continued. "He and his men will return and fight for their king."

King Théoden abruptly stopped the nervous hand-clenching, standing with a small growl of indecision. "They will be three hundred leagues from here by now!" He shouted, exasperated. "Èomer cannot help us."

The King of Rohan began the nervous habit again, before crossing his arms resolutely. I could not tell for sure, but I believed that he had made up his mind. "I know what it is you four want of me," He said, directing his words at the wizard, dwarf, man, and me. "But I would not bring further death to my people." He turned around to boldly face us again: even going so far as to look _me_ in the eye. "I will not risk open war."

"Open war is upon you!" Aragorn continued to argue tenaciously. "Whether you would risk it or not." Théoden's eyes narrowed, his form automatically straightening. _Oh no, he believes Estel insulted him…_

I was quite prepared to just sit back and watch what the king would respond with; but what he did say sent a familiar anger boiling up inside me. "When I last looked," the lord of Rohan almost spat, "Théoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan."

I growled lowly, stiffening in my seat next to the girl that I had nearly forgotten in the midst of such an intense conversation. I was sure that Théoden recognized my extreme displeasure and anger, and I met the man's eyes heatedly from across the hall. He flinched almost imperceptibly, but did not back down from his statement.

It was at that moment in which Gimli decided to belch very loudly: his first contribution to the debate. It was rather improper and foolish, but it did help ease the tension which had developed between Aragorn, Théoden and me. Mithrandir slowly rose from his seat, and – seeking to end the strain even more – said in a calm, pacifying tone, "Then what is the king's decision?"

King Théoden let his arms drop at the small, yet very significant question. All of us knew his answer would decide the fate of the Rohirrim. And so, after meeting every single one of our gazes with the same, blank expression, even Èowyn's, he answered. "We ride to Helm's Deep."

At the exact second that he finished that sentence, my head exploded with white stars and inky blackness, nearly throwing me into unconsciousness. I gasped in pain, pressing the palms of my hands into my eyes until the pain of that pressure was buried in the agony of this…what _was_ this? A vision?

_I am not blessed with foresight,_ I growled inwardly, biting down to restrain a cry from escaping my lips. _Why are the Valar doing this?!_

Somewhere behind me, I heard the little girl whimpering in fear; and Èowyn gasped in astonishment in roughly the same area. A few seconds after the pain started, I felt strong, comforting arms encircle my weak form. _Estel…_ "Lasto, lasto, mellon-nîn…tur-le lhaw nîn?" **| Listen, listen, my friend…can you hear me? |** I nodded weakly, pressing my hands harder into my eyes to maybe block out the pain.

From what I could hear, Gimli had now stood up from his seat and had run over to me. "What's the matter with her?" He asked with a shout. "I don't know," Aragorn growled, gritting his teeth – even though I could not see him do so.

Pictures and images began to dance across my mind: some bright and vivid, others dulled and blurry.

_There was water – _lots_ of water – drenching those around me; but then, before my very eyes, the clear, cold liquid was replaced with steaming, crimson blood. Screams echoed around me, but that was all I could distinguish…there were no other sounds: not even when my vision focused in on a man who was shouting frantic orders to his soldiers. I did not know the man, but I felt a nauseous jerk of pity when an arrow found his head…and went straight through his brain. Copious amounts of blood slid down his forehead before his dead body collapsed on the floor, his face forever frozen in an expression of infinite horror and fear. A sick, ugly language joined the loud screams echoing in my head…the tongue of Orcs._

"_Ash nazg durbatulûk…ash nazg gimbatul…ash nazg thrakatulûk…ash burzum-ishi krimpatul…" _**(1)**

I was thrust back to the Hall of Meduseld with one last, pained gasp. I blinked franticly, as Estel's extremely worried face finally became clear. Mithrandir gently pushed the worried man and dwarf away from me, smoothing my hair away from my now clammy skin. "Ellacári…what happened?"

I shook my head, shuddering lightly, and did not answer. "I…I do not know…" I whispered, attempting to stand from the fetal position I had been forced into, which was a big mistake. My head immediately felt extremely heavy, blackness enveloped my sight, and I stumbled lightly. Luckily, Estel managed to reach out and catch me in time. "What did Lady Varda show you?" The man asked softly, now carrying almost all of my weight.

"There was…_blood_," I gasped out. "And water…and death…" I finished, looking at Mithrandir with no small amount of uncertainty. "People were screaming…and-and I think there were orcs…I heard the Black Speech in my mind…" The wizard nodded thoughtfully, and Aragorn began to push me over to the table again, trying to force me to sit down again.

Meanwhile, Èowyn, Théoden, the children, and Gimli were looking at me with varying expressions. Èowyn looked extremely frightened and confused, as did the two mortal children; King Théoden had taken one step forward, trying to understand what was happening, with little success; and Gimli simply stood in front of me: confused, bewildered, and worried.

Aragorn finally managed to convince me to at least _lean_ against the table for support. He ran a weak hand through his dark, unkempt hair. "Why would Elbereth send you this vision now?" He asked wearily. "You forfeited the gift of foresight when Vilya was given to Elrond—"

"What, in Aulë's name, just happened?!" Gimli growled, startling at the – very much true – words that Estel had just spoken. "And what are you talking about?! The elf-lord is—" "Younger than me, Master Dwarf." I interrupted with a sigh. "And that makes my whole life that much more difficult…"

King Théoden managed to regain his ability to speak at that moment. "I will not have such trickery of elf-witches in my halls—"

"I am not practicing some sort of necromancy," I grumbled, quite irritated by the obvious prejudice in his voice. "I do not even understand the meaning or cause of this vision: how am I supposed to use it against you?" The wizard beside me continued to mumble nonsense under his breath: I could only catch a few words, such as "history", "Elbereth", and "disaster."

I looked at Gimli's extremely confused and curious face for a few seconds, considering. _Well, I've already told him some of my life at the Anduin, before Boromir's passing…I _could_ finish it…_ "I suppose you have a right to know the whole story," I finally muttered. _Are you sure?_ Aragorn thought-spoke to me. _Yes_, I responded, albeit reluctantly. The dwarf deserved to know my entire past…I had known him long enough that I owed him that much. _I can't believe I just thought that_, I thought to myself wryly, with a small inward grin.

Mithrandir understood my intent, and quickly ushered a flustered Théoden, Èowyn, and the two (now healthy and hale) children out of the hall. One of the back doors slammed shut, and Meduseld fell into a tense silence. Gimli crossed his arms and grunted: wordlessly demanding an explanation.

I sighed, trying to decide how to begin. "I don't really know where to start," I admitted somewhat sheepishly. "You already know how old I am…and I am guessing that you know that I am considered unusually old, even for an elf." Gimli didn't respond in any visible way, so I continued rather reluctantly. "My father and mother were married and with child very young…just barely past their majority of 50 years. When my parents and I fled to the forest that would become Greenwood, my grandfather, Oropher became king of the new Elven colony there. He remained in that title until the Last Alliance in the Second Age, where he was killed and my father became king of Mirkwood." I stopped briefly, trying to gather my thoughts and memories together to tell this tale right.

"From the moment of my birth, I was a…strange child. People called me an enigma. Most elves that live past their first millennia grow and mature just as mortal men would: Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond are obviously not the same physical age as me." A small, wry grin lit up my face briefly. There had been _many_ conversations with Elrohir about that.

"But after the First Age passed and faded into songs of regret and valor, it was quite clear that I was not 'aging' as other elves were. I had the mind, opinions, and emotions of an adult, but the appearance of a much younger elf. So I continued to live on: with eternal life…but also with eternal _youth_, which is something the New World had never seen before, not even in other extraordinary elves like Galadriel and Gil-Galad." I paused, considering. "Yet in retrospect, I believe that was the Valar's real purpose for me…even if in the end, I shunned the path laid before me."

Estel had been listening with silent consideration throughout my story, for he had already heard it told many times before. Gimli slowly sat down beside us on the table, stroking his beard as I continued. "I discovered at a young age that I had…_abilities, _which no other elf had. The gods had granted me physical magic – something rare for any being – and my inner power rapidly began to make itself apparent. _Too _rapidly, I must admit," I said with a soft voice. "I was terrified of what was happening to me…" I laughed once without humor. "I couldn't control my baser instincts and power surges at all: and it was beginning to frighten my parents and the people of Mirkwood as well. That's when Gandalf found me," I smiled again, all traces of lingering sorrow leaving my voice. "Gandalf the Grey, or Mithrandir, as the Elves call him, was already many centuries my elder, and he had only visited Mirkwood a few precious times when I was a child. I did not wholly respect the fact that he was a wizard. I believed that he was just a kind old man who would always bring such wonderful gifts from far off countries."

"When I was just past my first millennia, Mithrandir once again visited Mirkwood and my grandfather. I believe the first time he saw me for who I was, was in a rather inconspicuous attack on the throne room by a truly enormous dra…" I trailed off, glancing at a bemused dwarf. "Well, that's a story for another time. But I digress. The point was that the wizard took pity on me, and ferried me off to the Grey Havens for nearly two centuries…to live in poverty and peace. I eventually learned how to control my powers, with many years of practice and training, and I've almost mastered the act of controlling such things as visions, or power surges—"

"_Almost_?" Gimli spoke for the first time since I began my story. "Yes. Almost." I replied. "Back in Fangorn, when Mithrandir confronted me…that was an uncontrollable surge. And at the Anduin, when we were trying to find Boromir…" "…and of course, just now." Aragorn finished. Gimli thought about this for a moment, before he nodded in slightly bewildered understanding. He opened his mouth to ask me a question, but I _shh_ed him. "My story does not end there, Master Dwarf." I said quickly, before leaning back against the table and continuing my tale.

"At that time, when I stayed at the Havens, I was quite close to both Círdan, who was the Lord of the Grey Havens, and Celebrimbor, the elf deceived by Sauron to create the One Ring." Both dwarf and man stiffened at that, even though the latter knew how the rings fit into my history. "I might even go as far as saying they were my friends…before Celebrimbor was tricked by the Sauron into making those cursed objects…"

I sighed, a small twinge of guilt fluttering in my heart, and continued with one of the most well known poems of this Middle-Earth.

"'Three Rings for the Elven Kings, under the sky;  
Seven for the Dwarf-Lords in their halls of stone;  
Nine for Mortal Men, doomed to die;  
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne.  
In the land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.'"

I stopped, even though there was more to the poem: in this part of my story, the rest did not matter. "It has been thought over the centuries that the deception of Celebrimbor made by Sauron had been planned by Eru Ilúvatar all along…it would make some sense, I suppose. The three rings given to the elves were not corrupted as the other seventeen were, for Sauron did not have any part in the making of those. Narya; Nenya; and Vilya…that was what they were named."

"Narya was given to Círdan," Aragorn explained. "And then he gave it to the very wizard that travels with us now." Gimli's brow arched high over his forehead at that revelation. "Ai, it is true…the very Gandalf that just left our presence carries the Elvish Ring of Fire and Gold." I said with a small smile: it was fun catching the dwarf off guard.

"Nenya was given to the Lady Galadriel," I continued, watching as the mention of the elf-lady made Gimli blush slightly. "And she has kept the Ring of Water and Mithril for thousands of years after that."

"But still, there lay the problem of Vilya, the Ring of Wind and Sapphires." I sighed in secret longing of that object…oh, how beautiful it was…how it shimmered and shone with such power and grace…"Celebrimbor had died shortly after Sauron revealed himself for what he truly was, and he passed on the duty of hiding the Three Elven Rings to Gil-Galad and Galadriel. Those two struggled with the indecision for months: on whom would they bestow the most powerful and beautiful Elvish ring upon? 'They must be wise,' Círdan had said to me," I quoted the shipbuilder. "'And have a different outlook upon life…someone kind, yet serious. Someone fragile, yet strong. Someone mature…yet youthful'…"

A rapid understanding appeared in the depths of the dwarf's eyes. I smiled sadly. "Suddenly it occurred to Gil-Galad and his lieutenants _why_ I had been blessed by Elbereth with eternal youth, and magic beyond some people's comprehension. They had solved the enigma of the Princess of Mirkwood." I looked down, suddenly shamed by the next admittance that I would make. "And so King Gil-Galad himself came to my home, in 1696 of the Second Age, and requested an audience with me. He showed me Vilya…and I believed in that moment that it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen."

"It did not have the same _corrupting_ power that the One Ring has," I continued on, attempting to explain this hallowed jewel. "But there was certainly a more…_painful_ aspect of it: as there are for all Rings of Power. It was…alluring, hypnotic, enchanting." I chuckled dryly. "It whispered and promised every single moral and ethical desire you had ever held in your soul, with no hint or even lingering doubt of deceit or artifice. It declared in the loudest and softest voice that everything you had ever dreamed of would come to pass…" I looked down, suddenly unable to meet the dwarf's gaze. "That, for once, everything would be alright."

Suddenly Aragorn's hand was gripping my shoulder in that silent, supporting way of his: and I found that I was able to continue on. "But I absolutely repelled the responsibility that came with the acceptance of Vilya. I did not want any more cares than those that I already bore: I did not belong anywhere in this plane of existence, and I believed there was no single place where I truly fit. I convinced myself again and again that I would be content just wandering Middle-Earth for all eternity. After all, was that not what Gandalf had chosen to do?" Estel smirked at the small jab at the wizard.

"For his part, King Gil-Galad made sure I was aware of _all_ the benefits and disadvantages of accepting Vilya. He told me that my power and magical sight would be magnified by a thousand: that I would have power and ladyship over lands both physical and metaphysical." I smiled. "But that was the catch, you see."

"What catch?" Gimli grunted, still slightly impressed by my description of Vilya. "The ladyship." Estel replied for me, and I nodded my agreement. "Ai, Aragorn is correct."

"You see," I continued, "there is a very specific pattern with all the Ringbearers in this world: all of them were or are great leaders of their race. Lady Galadriel, Lord Círdan, and Lord Elrond have Lothlórien, the Grey Havens, and Rivendell; the Dwarvish Bearers – while I do not know their full story as you surely do, Gimli—" said dwarf made a noncommittal grunt, "—were obviously great lords; and the Nine Black Riders were once kings of men. I was, apparently, lacking such a powerful title."

"But you were the princess of Mirkwood, even back then, right?" Gimli questioned. "Well, yes," I replied. "However—" "King Gil-Galad knew that Oropher would rule for many centuries to come: and Thranduil even longer after that." Estel quietly interrupted my response. _He really does know me so well…_"It would take millennia for Ellacári to come to the throne, as is pretty obvious: considering she isn't Queen of Mirkwood as we speak."

"And thank the Valar for that," I muttered with a small grin. "If I was Queen, there would've been no way that I would've been able to join the Fellowship." Estel nodded, mirroring my smile.

"So," Gimli urged on, an eyebrow raised in supposed nonchalance. "What did the elf king do?"

"King _Gil-Galad_," I annunciated his name so Gimli would remember it, "offered me the chance to start a new Elven colony in a small valley on the east side of Eriador. He told me it was nestled cozily in-between the mountains, and the River Bruinen. Gil-Galad would have given me _everything_," I said sadly and a bit sheepishly. "Advisors to guide me; a full legion of elves to begin defenses; and Vilya to help defend my new ward." I sighed. "He truly offered me the world…and I refused it."

Gimli flinched unconsciously. "Only you would do something so stupid." He muttered, and for once, I allowed the comment. "Sometimes I agree with you, my friend," I replied in an equally low voice. "But when I look at the way my life ultimately turned out, how can I really complain?"

There was a tense silence for a few seconds, before I continued: sensing the end of this long tale. "That day, I refused many things. Vilya, my original birthright, and the beautiful land that would eventually become Rivendell. And, although at the time, it was only Gil-Galad and myself in that room, I swear to you that the heavens shook that day. Needless to say, the Valar were furious with me: I had nightmares every night for months after that, and it did not help that we were continuously at war during those times as well. I believe they forgave me somewhat, when I was given the chance to choose my replacer. And choose him I did."

"Wholeheartedly, I gave Vilya and the 'deed' of Rivendell to Lord Elrond, the son of Eärendil and Gil-Galad's own chief advisor. And I respect him above all others: to take that…_burden_, for lack of a better term, upon his shoulders. He has continued to watch over Rivendell for many years, turning it into the sanctuary for all races and home for his family…and a second home to me."

I smiled. "And for that, I do revere and honor him with his proper title…even if I am his elder." Aragorn chuckled. "I always wondered about that…why you relentlessly call him 'Lord Elrond', even when _you_ forfeited Rivendell to _him_." I winked. "It's because of a small de facto deal we have. I will always treat him as _my_ Elder, and in return, he will forget that I am _his_ Elder."

Gimli raised a curious eyebrow. "Lass," he grumbled. "That doesn't make _any_ sense whatsoever!" "Oh, I know," I grinned. "But unspoken deals made by Elves rarely do." Aragorn outright laughed at that, and we all had a good small chuckle: just to let out pent up emotions, I believe. But soon a silence descended upon us once again, and all our thoughts automatically turned to the declaration King Théoden had made about Helm's Deep, and the vision I had received right afterwards.

"Your story is quite interesting, and does clear up some points," Gimli said in a clear voice, and then in a small mutter, "I am reluctant to admit." I snorted softly. "But this does not solve our current problem." I sighed. "Yes, I know. If they go to Helm's Deep, they will be condemning themselves to certain death. The mere fact that Elbereth chose to disobey her Oath regarding me by sending this blunt, outright warning is proof enough." Gimli nodded gruffly.

I was about to continue on my point, when Aragorn suddenly stood up from his seat at the table, and subsequently pulled me up with him. I had completely healed from my unpleasant encounter with the possible future, and so my stomach did not immediately drop when I lurched to my feet.

"Come, my friends," the man said, catching a hold of my wrist and Gimli's shoulder. "I grow weary of all this talk: let us go find our wizard friend. Maybe then we will be able to clear this all up."

* * *

We had just walked out of Meduseld when Théoden's muttered commands and his captain's loud declarations sounded throughout Edoras.

"By order of the King, the city must empty!" the man shouted, with a pale scroll of paper in his hands. "We make for the refuge of Helm's Deep!"

While the captain – named Háma, from what I had heard – continued his decree, Mithrandir appeared out of virtually _nowhere_, and grabbed my arm. He began dragging an extremely bewildered elleth behind him, and Aragorn and Gimli quickly followed behind: like the wizard's actions were normal, and anticipated all along.

"Do not burden yourself with treasures! Take only what provisions you—"

"Helm's Deep!" Gimli interrupted the soldier with a bark, stomping beside Aragorn and Mithrandir, who continued to drag me. "They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight!"

I nodded enthusiastically, catching my feet finally. I remembered the bone-chilling vision, and couldn't help but agree with Gimli's words. "Who will defend them if not their king?" I whispered softly beside Estel as we entered the stables. _So this was where the wizard was forcing me…_

Aragorn continued walking past the stable doors with Mithrandir, and on some sort of unspoken signal, Gimli and I stopped following, and stood near the double doors. Like some kind of bodyguards.

"He is only doing what he thinks is best for his people," Aragorn disagreed calmly. "Helm's Deep has saved them in the past."

"There is no way out of that ravine," Mithrandir argued fiercely, striding at a speed that belied his age. "Théoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he is leading them to safety, but what he'll get is a massacre." The istar's foreboding words – combined with the obvious outlook of my vision – sent an ice cold shiver throughout my whole body.

"Théoden has a strong hold, but I fear for him," Mithrandir continued. "I fear for the survival of Rohan." For the first time since entering the stable, the wizard turned to face all three of us, and met each of our eyes one by one. "He will need all three of you before the end. The people of Rohan will need you. The defenses have to hold."

Gimli grunted in a silent oath, and a sharp, concise nod came from me. Aragorn simply said in a calm, determined voice, "They will hold."

Mithrandir nodded once in appeasement, and turned to his magnificent horse, Shadowfax. "The Grey Pilgrim," he murmured to himself. "That is what they used to call me. Three hundred lives of men I've walked his earth and now, I have no time." I smiled wryly, and a bit ruefully, responding to the istar mentally. _Now you know how I feel._

Said man sent me a halfhearted, yet amused, glare, before tightening Shadowfax's saddle, and climbing onto grand steed. "Good luck," he said. "My search will not be in vain. Look to my coming, at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the East."

Aragorn nodded, inclining his head and quickly moving out of the way of Shadowfax's intended path. "Go." Mithrandir nodded as well, before clenching his legs and robe around the horse's flanks, and whistling softly with a determined look on his face. I met my mentor's gaze one more time, and whispered, "Mára mesta." **| Good journey |**

Gimli and I quickly pressed our backs against the other stable doors: and not a moment too soon. Shadowfax, with Mithrandir atop him, sprinted past the dwarf and I, and out the stable doors. Aragorn slowly walked up to the two of us, and, putting a hand on each of our shoulders, squeezed gently in comfort.

_Good luck Mithrandir…we are all going to need it._

* * *

Translations –

**Boe urui aes ah sogenne. Ah… – They need hot food and drink. And…**

**Athel na dad i ring, ai – Herbs to bring down the chills, ai.**

**Sídh, sídh – Peace, peace**

**Lasto, lasto, mellon-nîn…tur-le lhaw nîn? – Listen, listen, my friend…can you hear me?**

**(1) **Ash nazg durbatulûk…ash nazg gimbatul…ash nazg thrakatulûk…ash burzum-ishi krimpatul – One ring to rule them all…one ring to find them…one ring to bring them all…and in the darkness, bind them.

_Mára mesta – Good journey_

* * *

**Word-Count: 6,488**

**UGH! I know…the agony of reading that horrible, terrible chapter! *screams because I could not make it better*. AGH! …ok, so it's pretty obvious that this was not a good chapter for me. I mean, it was fun to write (believe me, I had Ellacári's past jumbled around inside my head since chapter 15): but I still don't like the way it came out. I think the "lead-in" to explaining her history is WAY too awkward…I mean, WHY would our three main-ish characters just kinda take a break in the middle of the plot to listen to this elf's story?! How completely lame is that?!**

…***sobs* please, feel free to flame as much as you want, just don't give up on me! It'll get better, I promise! And there ****will**** be some more romance! I give you my solemn oath as a writer (though I don't even deserve that title after this chapter…*sobs harder*).**

**On behalf of all the characters talking to me in my head right now, I apologize. But this chapter was necessary…and it was good to get it over with…even though it DID completely interrupt the story flow: ugh!**

**Alright, gonna stop with the self-hate now. Just please rate and review…please? *whimpers***

**Naamarie…**

**~CC. **


	21. Reprieve

**Disclaimer: Again, no recognizable characters, plots, or settings belong to me. J.R.R. Tolkien, Peter Jackson, and New Line Cinema are the owners here (*sobs*).**

**Here's the next chapter guys! There's actually not much to say in this A/N (*cough cough* …for once… *cough cough*). Just a small review reply to "alli".**

"**Alli": I see what you're saying, but I don't really think that age matters to the Elves…a really obvious example of this would be Arwen and Aragorn. Arwen is (at least) 3000 years older than Aragorn…****and**** they were technically distant cousins. Nobody really had a problem with their love (you know, besides Elrond's parental worry). And Ellacári would be about 3000 years older than the twins and Arwen…so, I don't really worry about it. Lol :)**

**And now, on to the next chapter!**

Chapter 21 – Reprieve

* * *

"…**Ride to Helm's Deep! Go not to the Fords of Isen, and do not tarry on the plains…Keep well the Lord of the Mark, till I return. Await me at the Helm's Gate! Farewell!"**

**~ Gandalf, "Helm's Deep"**

* * *

"What _do_ you fear, my lady?"

I stopped walking suddenly as I heard Aragorn's deep, sincere voice questioning…_somebody_ within the room branching off from the corridor I was currently wandering. I had just been in search for Gimli: he had apparently drifted off to the kitchens to prepare for the ride to Helm's Deep, and on the way, I had found Aragorn and…oh.

I silently crept into the room without being noticed, as Aragorn and Èowyn conversed softly amidst the frantic commotions of the Rohirrim, preparing to leave their home. Neither Estel nor Èowyn noticed my quiet entrance, not at first, so enraptured in their conversation as they were.

Èowyn seemed to consider a reply to Aragorn's question, before answering quietly, yet bluntly. "A cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them. And all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire."

I cocked my head in thoughtfulness. _Hmm…that was once my greatest fear as well. It appears that the lady of Rohan and I have much more in common than either of us originally believed._

Aragorn didn't appear to react in any physical way from her response; all he said was, "You are a daughter of kings. A shieldmaiden of Rohan. I do not think that will be your fate." Without another word, my elen-gwanûrturned towards my general direction, and left through the door to my left. He caught my eye, but did not say anything directly to me, not even mentally.

Èowyn made to draw out the previously discarded sword after Aragorn had disappeared from her sight; opening the trunk and peering at the weapon curiously, but not unsheathing it. I strolled, almost nonchalantly, up behind the woman. She still didn't notice me. I coughed softly. To my surprise, Èowyn drew the sword faster than I would've thought possible for a mortal, and aimed for my neck.

If I had been a human, I surely would have been decapitated right then and there. But, luckily, Elven reflexes proved reliable; for even faster than Èowyn's sword, I drew my knife with a strong flick of my wrist, and parried the blow within inches of my throat. A few seconds passed as the other woman gathered her senses and realized – with a horrified expression – that she had just attempted to kill me. I raised an amused eyebrow. "Do the Rohirrim treat all guests of your king thus? I believe my friend received such a reception as well."

I said the remark in jest, of course: but apparently, Èowyn did not take it that way. Her eyes widened, and she hastily put away her sword. "Forgive me, milady. You startled me." "'Tis fine, maethor-o Rohan **| warrior of Rohan |**. No harm has been done."

Èowyn had turned away from me to return the sword to the trunk, but simply rested it on top of the box before returning to meet my gaze. "What did you call me?" She asked quietly, and without a hint of malice or gall. I looked at her, bemused. "A maethor-o Rohan…it is the title for warriors of Rohan in the tongue of my people. I referred to one of your ancestors as such…I think he appreciated it." I chuckled lightly, remembering Eorl's startled reaction fondly.

Èowyn cocked her head. "Which one of my forefathers were you friends with?" I smiled. "I believe your people call him 'Eorl the Young'." The woman's eyes widened in surprise, and I truly laughed this time. "So surprised…hm, yes, well milady: I was riding to war before your grandfather's grandfather was even conceived."

"Èowyn," she corrected, a small twinkle in her eyes that was not brought about by fear, respect, or sadness as it had been previously: but of friendliness and amusement. "Just Èowyn…I sound like a princess when people refer to me as 'milady'." I chuckled. "I certainly know that feeling. And please, call me Ellacári."

Èowyn smiled, before once again returning to the sword and putting it away in the trunk with a muted slam. She brushed her hands off on the apron she wore, before moving towards one of the tables and beginning to pack up supplies for the journey. "What has brought you here, Ellacári, to talk to a mortal woman like me?"

I snorted lightly, though with a smile on my face: I liked the way my name rolled off her tongue, with just a slight Rohirrim accent. "I was just passing through when I noticed you and Estel talking…I was looking for the dwarf, you see." Èowyn nodded, before looking at me with a, slightly confused, eyebrow raised. "Estel? Who is—" "Oh, I'm sorry," I exclaimed. "You would know him as Aragorn, the man who arrived here with Gandalf, Gimli and I. Estel is his Elvish name…given to him when he was a child. Sometimes I can't help but call him that."

Èowyn picked up a large blanket, and – nothing that I seemed to be itching to do something with my hands – proffered two of the edges to me, wordlessly asking if I would help fold. I nodded, taking the trim and beginning to crease it. "He did say that he had been raised in Rivendell; last I talked to him in the stables." I nodded, the two of us folding the cloth again. "Ai…his father, whom I was friends with, perished in an Orc attack; and the twin sons of Elrond found him and his mother abandoned in the forest. They brought him back to Rivendell, and he was raised amongst the Elves as Lord Elrond's foster son."

Èowyn considered that for a moment, before nodding in thoughtfulness. We finished folding the first blanket, and, placing it in a pile with some other materials, began folding yet another. A small smile was brought to my face as we did the simple chores. "What?" Èowyn asked with a curious smile of her own. "It's just that I haven't done such a mundane task in quite a long while. It's strangely calming…so unlike war and battle. Which, I'm sorry to say, I participate in quite frequently. I have done so nearly my whole life."

Èowyn looked up at me, startled by the admittance in my response. "But you are a warrior of your people…and you are female. Is that some sort of Elvish custom: allowing your women to fight in battle? To defend as well as be defended?" I grinned as I caught the hint of wistfulness in her voice.

Èowyn's cheeks reddened in slight embarrassment. "Do not be ashamed, Èowyn! Training to be a warrior is nothing to be—" Suddenly my grin was enveloped in a quick, soft hand which was pressed over it. I raised an eyebrow at Èowyn, who was indeed the one who had silenced me. "Shh!" She hissed, though the twitching of her lip and the sparks in her eyes betrayed her solemnity. "That is a Rohirrim secret! Not even my uncle knows of my full skill with a blade…only my brother."

I nodded to indicate that I would not continue to speak of it, and she released my mouth. "You have much courage and daring, Èowyn…even most _Elves_ would not dare to silence the Princess of Mirkwood as you just did." Again, I had meant the statement as a joke, but the other woman's eyes widened for a split second, before she gasped in horror. "Princess?" She said, eyes widening in horror, and almost dropping the cloth we were currently folding. "Princess of Mirkwood?" I sighed heavily. "Please Èowyn; haven't we already agreed to drop formalities?" "I suppose so…" She trailed off, still looking at me with a strange mix of bewilderment and awe. "Good then. I will not call you 'milady', if you will not treat me like a princess. Deal?" She studied me bravely for a second (for longer than some Elves have done), before nodding her, if reluctant, assent.

"Alright then," she continued, resuming the folding. "If you are the Princess of Mirkwood…how did you get to be a warrior traveling with this company? Surely even the Elves are protective of their royalty." I laughed, the awkwardness gone between us. "That is a severe understatement. Originally, my father, King Thranduil, was _extremely_ overprotective. I am his only daughter, his only child and heir, and needless to say, his watchfulness bordered on stifling in the beginning."

"What made him change his mind?" Èowyn asked curiously. I chuckled. "Shouldn't you be taking notes on this?" The woman scoffed lightly. But before she could respond to the jab, I quickly answered her question. "I disobeyed his direct orders." She seemed surprised at that. "What?" "I disobeyed my father's, and grandfather's, direct orders, which had commanded me to stay out of war.

"You see, when I was only a few decades old—" "_Only_?" Èowyn repeated, rather flabbergasted. "Yes, _only_. When I was still considered 'young' in the eyes of my people, a great battle broke out upon Middle-Earth, against Morgoth, Sauron's darker and fouler master." Èowyn shuddered slightly. "You have heard of him in your studies," I said, rather surprised. She nodded, so I continued. "The war itself had lasted many decades before I was born: it is now called the War of Wrath, although back then, we called it the Great Battle. And so it was. At the time, my grandfather, Oropher, my parents and I were living in Doriath – unusual for Sinda elves, who mostly lived in Valinor at the time – along with Lord Celeborn. Have you read of him as well?"

Èowyn nodded furiously, curiosity slowly building in her brilliant blue eyes. "Yes, well," I continued, both of us reaching for a bag to load the blankets in, "when Morgoth was preparing to make his final attack on the Elves, Men, and Valar – who had all banded together in a last, futile attempt for victory – my grandfather and father were also preparing to ride out to Beleriand, to aid Lord Eönwë. My mother had already resigned herself to waiting in Doriath during the confrontation, but I would have none of it." I laughed rather dryly there. "My grandfather and father, as well as Eärendil, ordered me to reside in Doriath during the battle…but I disobeyed them. I cut my hair shorter, in the fashion of males, loaded on much armor, disguised myself as a foot soldier and joined Lord Eärendil's army."

Èowyn was now looking at me with great surprise and respect in her eyes. "And what happened?" She urged impatiently. I chuckled. "Well, to my chagrin and relief, I was placed near the outskirts of Beleriand, and so I did not have to face a Balrog or dragon all by myself as some did. In fact, I only saw Morgoth from a distance; when he was thrown into the Void by the gods as his punishment. But even then…it was one of the darkest and most terrifying times in all of my very, _very_ long life. In retrospect, I suppose I somewhat regret the decision to join the War…I continue to have nightmares about it, even now. But," I concluded, somewhat embarrassed. "This was not meant to be a history lesson. It was to tell you of the results. True," I said, shrugging, "my father and Oropher were furious beyond description of my disobedience." I laughed for a second, remembering _another_ elf's reaction. "Eärendil simply rolled his eyes and told my parents that I would, and I quote, 'bring much more defiance into the proud house of Oropher'."

I smiled kindly at her as we finished packing the supplies away. A soldier arrived in front of us, and bowing with a revering "Thank you, my ladies," took the saddlebags to be brought to the horses. "The point is that Oropher and my father never once doubted my bravery. They questioned my sanity – many times, in fact – and my ability to keep myself alive, but never once after that did they question my courage, and my belief to do what I think is right, regardless of what anyone else thinks."

Èowyn cocked her head slightly, considering my words with a thoughtful expression. "In some ways, you remind me of myself," I continued. "Wanting to fight, wanting to protect…and ready at any costs to jump into the biggest battle that can be found. I will give you this warning, Shieldmaiden of Rohan," I recited, placing a hand on her shoulder and my tone growing serious. "War may not be the great respect-earning cause you hope it will be. It is terrifying, dark, and deadly. But if you do overcome all of these demons…" I smiled, squeezing her shoulder gently. "I think you will become a very courageous warrior."

I turned around, intending to end the conversation and leave the woman with her thoughts and go find Gimli and Aragorn. I got about two steps before she said, "So do you support me, Ellacári?" I grinned to myself, before forcing myself to become stoic again to turn and face her. I strolled silently over to the chest, lifted the lid, and handed Èowyn the sword she had put away twice in the course of an hour. She stroked the simple scabbard with obvious care, and gripped the hilt with experience and skill. I nodded, assured and convinced of Éowyn's true path from here on out, and once again, turned around and walked away.

This time, Èowyn did not question my decision.

* * *

"Estel, I am worried—"

"You are _always_ worried, Ellacári: in one way or another."

"Well, yes; but this time especially so!"

"Like you were the time we conquered Caradhras with my brothers?"

"But it's not—"

"And the time we escaped Mirkwood's dungeons and ended up on the doorstep of Dol Guldur?"

"Now, _that_ was not my fault and you know it, Ara—"

"And the time we…"

"Will you stop interrupting me?!" I growled, irritated beyond belief with the human riding beside me now. "Valar, you are extremely insolent: even for a human!"

"Whatever gave you the first hint?" Aragorn replied with a cheeky grin. And, despite the rumblings in my chest that begged me to defend my infamous pride, I couldn't help but smile slightly back. But my belief in the severity of the situation tethered me to my desperate attempts to make my friend see my logic.

"Aragorn, this is not a mere joke or exaggeration! I am truly frightened, mellon-nîn." I whispered, grasping my dearest companion's hand from across the gap between Arod and Hasufel. Sure enough, this gained Aragorn's attention. "I feel like something is going to happen: to you in particular. And that it isn't going to be very pleasant. What if Elbereth is sending me another warning?"

Aragorn considered me for a moment, before tightening his hand around mine, and leaning over to gently brush my cheek with his other hand. I sighed heavily, knowing that my argument was lost. "Just…please. Promise me you'll be extra careful from now on, Estel? Promise me that you'll allow me to hover over you like a mother hen?" I asked with a small, pleading smile. Aragorn's brow furrowed, and I could tell the warrior part of his mind was telling him to rebel against my statement, but before he could object, I whispered one last plea. "Saes?" **| Please |**

Aragorn finally sighed in defeat. "Rath-o." **| Of course | **I smiled in triumph, but it was only momentary. "But only until we arrive at Helm's Deep. Then I would have you focus on your _own_ safety, Cári. Not mine." I sent him a halfhearted glare, before grumbling under my breath, "Dôl gîn lost." **| Your head is empty |**

Aragorn laughed at the insulting jest, and, again, as much as I tried, I couldn't hold back a small chuckle of my own.

"What are you two laughing about back there?" Gimli virtually roared from a few meters ahead of us as King Théoden crept up on his own, white stallion to ride beside Aragorn and me. I rolled my eyes, mock-exasperated. "Must you hound our every step like a dog, Elvellon?" "Of course, elf! If I didn't, where would you be now?"

"Probably back in Lórien enjoying a long, warm bath at twilight…" I muttered under my breath, so only Aragorn could hear. "With Elrohir gazing down at me with dark irises…and candles lit around the bathing room…" I licked my lips sinfully.

"Too much information, El." Aragorn groaned with an exaggerated gripe. "That is my brother you are talking about." "And yet I do not begrudge you your _very_ unacceptable fantasies about a certain Undómiel…" I said with a smirk. The result was quite satisfying: Aragorn blushed so profusely I thought that he might implode.

The king watched over us amidst our playful banter with a knowing, amused smile on his face. In a way, although I was millennia older than him, Théoden reminded me a bit of my own father. There was a regal, proud sense of nobility to his bearing; and also a fierce defense mechanism for his people and his own honor. But there was also the obvious love he had for his family: Èowyn, Èomer, and Théodred, though the latter now deceased. I knew that Théoden would do essentially anything to protect his people and his loved ones: which was why I did not wholly resent Théoden for his decision to ride to Helm's Deep. _While his choice may still prove faulty, as forewarned in my vision, there also may be some sense, and perhaps victory, in the King's verdict._

All three of our gazes were drawn back to a riding Gimli and a following Èowyn. We had set out for the refuge of Helm's Deep only a couple of hours previous and, for the most part, we had all been in relatively good spirits. So many trials had beset both the Rohirrim and the Three Hunters with recent events: the death of Boromir and Théodred, the departure of Mithrandir, and the cold, dark warning I had received from the gods predicting our demise. But this little journey allowed a temporary respite to all our troubles and sorrows: much to my relief. The grief and hopelessness had begun to take its toll on all of us.

"You see, lass," my dwarf companion's voice startled me from my reverie. I immediately thought that Gimli was speaking to me, as he usually referred to me as 'lass' (much to my vexation). But with a closer look, I realized with a grin that the title had also been awarded to Èowyn. _Another thing we have in common._

"It's true that you don't see many dwarf women," Gimli continued in a rather hushed voice. "And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance, that they are often mistake for dwarf men."

I could see that Èowyn was desperately trying to hold back her giggles; and I was rather hard-pressed to do the same. The other woman turned her head backwards to ask us the unspoken question. "It's the beards," Aragorn mouthed, a grin on his face as he mimicked the motion of stroking his facial hair. That almost made me lose it: an outright grin overtook my face, and I pressed a hand to my mouth to try to stifle the giggles threatening to consume me. Even Théoden was now chuckling quietly.

As Èowyn turned back to Gimli – who had, of course, not noticed the exchange whatsoever – the dwarf continued his 'philosophy on the female dwarves.' "And this in turn has given rise to the belief that there are no dwarf women. And the dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground!"

Èowyn couldn't control her laughter any longer, and at once Gimli joined in, gesturing wildly with his hands. "Which is of course ridiculous—Whoa!" I saw at once what Gimli's wild hand gesturing would lead to, as his fiery brown horse wicked and whinnied impatiently, and abruptly sped forward…with Gimli in no control of the reins.

He toppled to the floor with a loud, wince-earning _THUMP_, his numerous pieces of armor clanging jarringly against each other. Aragorn and I immediately burst out into hysterical laughter. "Having some trouble there, Master Dwarf?" I managed to gasp out around the stitches in my side.

Gimli growled as a grinning Éowyn hurried forward to retrieve his rampaging horse and help the flailing dwarf up off the ground. "It was deliberate! It was deliberate!" Aragorn and Théoden continued to smirk at the floundering dwarf, and an occasional chuckle racked my body as Éowyn sincerely attempted to pull Gimli off of his backside.

"I have not seen my niece smile in a long time," Théoden mused at my left, his expression immediately turning regretful and sad from his previously amused face. Aragorn turned to look at the king thoughtfully, before returning his gaze to Éowyn.

"She was just a girl when they brought her father back dead. Cut down by orcs." He continued, eliciting a startled glance from both Aragorn and me. "She watched her mother succumb to grief. And she was left alone to tend her king in growing fear…" he carried on as I looked out upon Éowyn's smiling, bright features with a knot of sympathy twisting in my stomach. "…Doomed to wait upon an old man; who should have loved her as a father all these years."

Aragorn and I didn't say anything for a long time after Théoden's reluctant, almost shamed confession – coupled with Éowyn's bright, unhindered countenance – before the king let out a small, almost unnoticeable sigh. Uncertainly, for I did not know if my advances would be welcomed or not, I placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "I am sure that the lady Éowyn is very appreciative about the care that you obviously show towards her now. Believe me, I speak from experience with my father." Théoden looked at me with such disheartened gloom that my heart twitched pitifully for this man. "After my own mother was killed by orcs," I supplied quietly, bringing a look of surprise from the king, "my father was very distant for a long time; bordering on aloofness. But time passed, grief dissipated…and eventually…" I smiled, trailing off mysteriously. "I believe she will forgive you, penneth."** | young one |**

King Théoden looked momentarily perplexed at the word I had named him, but seemed to push it aside as unimportant. _Elves and their strange customs_, he thought, rather amused. Aragorn chuckled at my "choice-of-words," and after I had lightly clapped him on the shoulder, I spurred Arod forward to speak briefly to Gimli before we set up camp

But not before promising myself that I would give _Aragorn_ a few choice words before we set up camp. Regardless of his reassurances, I couldn't shake the dreadful feeling that _something_ was going to happen…and soon.

* * *

True to my prediction, King Théoden soon ordered the command for camp and rest for the exhausted band of refugees. If it had just been Aragorn, Gimli, and I, we wouldn't have stopped for another day and a half. If just the Rohirrim men, we could've last a couple of more hours. But we also had women and young children with us; along with supplies, ponies and mules, and a whole other assortment of creatures and materials. So although I was irritated with the speed by which we were traveling, I could tell the slight reprieve was needed.

_I just hope Curunîr doesn't get word of our little entourage,_ I thought to myself warily as I made my way towards Aragorn, sitting next to his horse, Hasufel. _If we are caught unawares…the results could be disastrous._

"That will not happen, mellon-nîn," Estel interrupted my thoughts, extending his arm and wordlessly inviting me to sit with him. I quickly lowered myself to the rough ground, and folding my legs beneath me. "How do you know, Estel? I'm the one apparently gifted with foresight, albeit belatedly." The man chuckled under his breath, the motion sending tremors throughout my whole upper body, as I had been leaning my cheek against his shoulder at the time.

Aragorn took another long puff on his pipe, and I wrinkled my nose as a small cloud of smoke enveloped the both of us before most of it blowing away in the breeze. "I don't know how you can stand that…that _filth_," I managed to cough out, the rest of the smoke finally dissipating. "It's not filth," Aragorn retorted indignantly. "It's a gratifying practice of relaxation." "You mean a way of getting inebriated using pipe weed, and forgetting about all your worries while indulging." "Precisely." He retorted again, puffing another ring of smoke; and provoking another round of coughing.

We were silent for a few minutes after that, letting our minds drift to better times in the past; troubling times now; or even _more_ troubling times in the future. I abruptly sighed wishfully as my wanderings inevitably led me to Elrohir.

I turned over his appearance and characteristics in my mind like one would rub an eroded stone within one's fingers. His charming, kind personality alone was enough to make me a very happy elf; his self-assured, yet not at all cocky grin enough to send me into something akin to ecstasy. And although his spirit and mind left absolutely nothing to be desired (as I would still love him if he only had that), Elrohir's physical appearance was nothing to be scoffed at either. His charcoal-black locks which were forevermore sleek and silky…and always devilishly cool beneath slender fingertips, no matter how hot or humid the weather was. And his body…Elbereth, the mere thought of that Elf's physique sent me spiraling into fantasies that, were my grandfather alive, he would surely whip me for even considering. I had seen the younger twin's bare chest (…and even on some, luckier occasions, _below_ that region…) often enough throughout his life, and it never ceased to amaze me. Elrohir was less slender and seemingly-fragile, as most Elves were (including me); nay, his body was more toned and athletic, packed with muscle and hard-earned strength. A gained trait that stemmed from his half-adan **| half-man |** lineage. His skin was more sun-kissed than my own; and pure crimson blood ran through his veins from the Peredhil Line, differing from my own, rather roseate colored life-liquid, as it was with all Silvan and Sinda.

Though some other, _baser_ Elves may hold the Noldor, and especially the Peredhil, in very low esteem, my father and I personally held no such grudges against the family: my father was friends with both Eärendil and Elrond, the former long since passed on, and the latter still residing in Imladris. I, myself, had been friends with Lord Elros Tar-Minyatur…and my oath to him was what originally bound me to the heirs of Númenor, and the Lost Kings of Gondor and Arnor. My mother had even grown to be very good friends with both Celebrian and Erestor. And so the Royal Family of Mirkwood found themselves attached to the honorable line of Peredhil. I remembered with a small inward snicker when my father discovered that Elrond would be wed to Celebrian, the daughter of _Galadriel_ and _Celeborn_. He looked as if he had been trampled by a whole army of horses.

'_Elrond is marrying the only daughter of WHO?!'_

I chuckled as my memories once again inched back to Elrohir. When I had confided in Arwen about my hidden love for her brother, she supported me wholeheartedly and with seemingly no restraint to her encouragement. My father – and Elrond, for that matter – were completely clueless, as far as I knew (yet, both Mithrandir and Aragorn were aware of it, even when I was not). Maybe it's a father-thing…that your parents are, by default, the last to know about such things as love. _Then again, the same could be said for me. Elrohir and I haven't even met face to face as potential lovers, let alone feä-vérui _**| soul-mates |**_…who says that we could go through with the things we wrote on paper?_

A sudden, unreasonable fear took hold of me as I remembered the reason that I had not confessed my adoration to Elrohir. _What if he rejects me? What if he realizes that it was all just an illusion after all? What if—_

No. I refused to think that. _Ellacári, you have fought Orcs, goblins, wargs, and demons of physical and mental kinds. You have faced and seen dragons…gods…even a glimpse of Morgoth himself. And now, you are trembling at the thought of handing over your heart and having it shattered into a million pieces?_

_Yes,_ a worried, frantic part of my mind replied. _Yes I am._

Aragorn puffed especially heavily on his accursed pipe, and I was dragged back to the present and out of my thoughts. "What are you thinking about?" I asked him quietly, fingering the hilt of one of my knives.

"Arwen." Aragorn answered bluntly. "And you?"

"Elrohir." I said in the same tone.

We both sighed simultaneously, that had it not been for my melancholic mood, I would have burst out laughing.

"Funny that we should each fall in love with those two," Aragorn said with a small, calculating smile. "You know, Ellacári; if you marry Elrohir, and I marry Arwen, we will officially be brother and sister, albeit by law." I noticed that when he said 'marry Arwen', a small flinch overtook his features. _He thinks Arwen has sailed._

"She has not left you for Valinor, Aragorn. Surely you know that." The man sighed very sadly, making my head lower in sympathy. "I would rather her leave than linger here as a mortal."

"It was her choice." "But the only reason she stays is because of me."

"Now_ that_, is untrue, son of Arathorn," I said, exasperated at the man's hopelessness. "I forbid that you take all this blame _and_ sorrow upon your shoulders, for not even you could bear that for long." Aragorn meant to interrupt, but I quickly sat up and tilted his chin down to look into my eyes. "Arwen loves you, 'tis true. But if you so insist on blaming yourself for her choice, then I am claiming at least half of that guilt. Arwen stays because you stay. And I stay because you stay. And _Elrohir_ will—_hopefully_—stay because I do. And therefore, by default, Arwen will _also_ stay again, for her brother's sake. You see! I am at fault as well!"

I slumped back into my seat, my arms crossed in stubborn defiance. Aragorn looked at me incredulously. "Ellacári," He said with his brow furrowed, as if trying to search for _any_ logic in my words at all. "I beg your pardon, but that makes entirely _no sense_." I harrumphed indignantly, though _I_ wasn't really quite sure of what I had said myself (not that I'd admit that to him). "You're pardoned."

Aragorn rolled his eyes, though with a very amused grin on his face. I laughed as well, finally letting out the amusement I had been trying to hold back the entire conversation. My chuckling eventually died down, however, and our stoic, melancholic mood soon returned.

"And what of you and Elrohir?" Aragorn asked as I unconsciously scooted closer to him on the hard grassy ground.

I shrugged, refusing to tell him of my inner doubts. Aragorn, however, knew me much too well. "Do not doubt your love for my brother, or his love for you," He advised wisely, taking another puff on his pipe. "You of all people, Ellacári, should know that when Elves love, it is never just an illusion…never a cloak to hide simple desire, lust, or loneliness. When Elves love…they love for eternity. With no limits, no restraint, and no exceptions."

"The same could be said for you, Estel. Why should you and Arwen restrain yourselves when you know that it will only bring about more pain for the both of you?" Aragorn did not answer that, nor did I pursue it further. _Ai, I am dealing with two of the most stubborn creatures on earth: Arwen Undómiel, and Aragorn, son of Arathorn._

There was another, slightly shorter silence between us, one fraught with deep thoughts and longings for our respective loved ones. I found Estel's hand amidst the deep, almost smothering darkness of the night, and leaned closer against his shoulder. "Do you think we will live long enough to see them again, Aragorn?"

Aragorn stiffened, but hastily relaxed when he heard my nervous, sharp intake of breath at his reaction. "What do you want me to say?" I thought for a second, before replying with a sigh, "Lie to me."

"Of course we will see them both again, Ellacári. There is absolutely no doubt at all that we will emerge victorious, that Sauron will be defeated…that Middle-Earth will forever be purged of all evil. Frodo will survive, as will Sam and all of our friends. Nobody else will die in this war, we will enter peacetime easily and quickly with no troubles, and I shall have my Arwen, and you shall have your Elrohir, and we shall be with them and each other for all eternity, with nothing to separate or part us."

I sighed, leaning back and out of his comforting embrace to lie fully on the ground and look up at the slowly appearing stars. As Eärendil's light pierced all the remaining clouds and shined upon the Rohirrim's camp, as bright as Anar **| the Sun |**, my eyes slowly faded out of reality and into the depths of Elvish dreams. But not before uttering one small, seemingly innocent word to my friend.

"Liar."

* * *

Translations –

**Maethor-o Rohan – Warrior of Rohan**

**Saes – Please**

**Rath-o **– **Of course**

**Dôl gîn lost **– **Your head is empty**

**Penneth – Young one**

**half-adan – half-man  
**

**Feä-vérui – Soul-mates**

_Anar – the Sun_

* * *

**Word-Count: 5,625**

**Alright, unlike my A/N in the beginning, I actually have a couple more things to say in about this chapter, and future chapters, I guess (and you all know how much I like to ramble).**

**First of all, let me just tell you that I believe that I cannot write realistic Éowyn dialogue ****for my life****! Whenever I try differently, it always comes out so petty and weak! Ugh…it's extremely frustrating. But this is these are the best lines I came up with, so it'll have to do (believe me, they were much worse before I fixed them).**

**Next, every single piece of information about the War of Wrath (545-587 of the F.A.) is completely accurate to Tolkien's legendarium (as I try to make all my information and histories)!**

**I'm also beginning to get really nervous and indecisive about Helm's Deep…and about the 'Fate of Haldir.' It's such a damn controversial topic when it comes to movie canon…and before I began this story, I didn't have a problem with it. But, then I wrote the Lothlórien chapters…and I kinda fell in love with this character! So now the decision is to stick with canon (and give buckets of emotional torment); or take the easy way out (and save my characters and **_**myself**_** from the emotional torment). Please, if anybody has any ideas, they'd be greatly appreciated!**

**Last, but not least, if anybody can tell me where the last scene (as in, the very last dialogue) is derived from, I'll be sure to mention them in the next A/N! (I wonder if anybody will know it…and here's a hint: it's not from LOTR! *winks* the challenge has begun!)**

**Until the next update, everybody!**

**Naamarie,**

**~CC. **


	22. Falling

**Disclaimer: You're all probably getting really tired of these things, but again, no recognizable characters and etc. belong to me. They're all the property of Tolkien, New Line Cinema, and Peter Jackson.**

**First I just wanted to thank everybody who reviewed and read the last chapter! I know the wait for this one was a little longer…but I didn't really have much time this week (I've had a couple of projects due lately; and on top of that, I just got a killer cold). But anyway, this chapter was **_**extremely**_** fun to write (did I mention how much I love angst?)!**

**Also, I have thought over it long and hard (mostly when in the shower at 6 AM in the morning…though you didn't really need to know that…); and I have finally decided what Haldir's fate shall be…but that doesn't mean that I'm gonna **_**tell you**_** right now! Heh heh…you'll just have to wait and see, I guess! *grins***

**Alright, last note: somebody has recognized the last dialogue of Chapter 21! Congratulations, "Sajahi"! You realized that I came up with the lines from…Buffy the Vampire Slayer! (lol, I can see you laughing right now ****iMaximumSeddie****). Sajahi, it makes me very happy to find somebody else that knows lines from BtVS besides me: for your victory, I grant you a BRAND NEW HONDA ACCORD!**

…**ok, just joking. Heh heh…can't really afford a car of my own right now; let alone a car for someone else. But I can give you a **_**virtual**_** car…if you like? *raises eyebrow lamely* Yeah, I didn't think so.**

**You don't have to pay attention to my aimless ramblings…just continue onto the story! There's gonna be a lot of death, blood and killing in this one (along with a lot of angst), so be prepared! *grins***

Chapter 22 – Falling

* * *

…**Fearing to come too late, they rode with all the speed they could, pausing seldom. Swift and enduring were the steeds of Rohan, but there were many leagues to go. Forty leagues and more it was, as a bird flies, from Edoras to the fords of the Isen, where they hoped to find the king's men that were unsuccessfully holding back the hosts of Saruman…**

**~ "Helm's Deep"**

* * *

Thankfully, we wasted no time in setting out at dawn after the slight reprieve we received the night I spoke with Estel: and this urgent command made by Théoden slightly eased my worried heart. Helm's Deep was not as far from Edoras as I originally believed (Èowyn said that we would reach the refuge by evening) and so my fears were eased…for the time being. A morning of marching passed quite uneventfully, which was nothing short of a miracle. I could've sworn that Curunîr would retaliate swiftly and vigorously; especially after Wormtongue was freed by Aragorn's mercy. I remember smiling to myself astride Arod as morning crept into noon. _Perhaps I do not know the wizard as well as I thought I did…oh well. No need to be disappointed by lack of a fight; I am extremely happy that this is being carried out peacefully._

But, unfortunately for all of us, Elbereth's warnings proved to be too reliable.

It happened only an hour past noon. I was beginning to get that icy, tingly feeling again at the very end of my spine: my senses warning me that something was wrong.

"Estel," I said, turning my head to the side to see the man on my right. "I am going to go scout ahead." Aragorn's brow furrowed in something akin to uneasiness, but then his expression smoothed out, and he nodded. "Of course. Gamling and Háma were conversing about doing just that." I didn't bother turning around and checking to see if the guards were following: leaping down from Arod and giving the reins to a walking Gimli, I sprinted up the hill next to some cliffs we were traversing without breaking a sweat. I stood on the apex of the incline, looking out over the plains of Rohan with a small measure of apprehension still making its way through my body.

Using my magic as I had on Weathertop and Amon Hen, I extended my sight across the plains: attempting to see our destination of Helm's Deep. But a strange feeling washed over me as I tried to see further. I couldn't explain it at first, but then it occurred to me what was happening: I was being _blocked_.

_What, in Elbereth's name, could be blocking me? We're only a league from Helm's Deep…Sauron would not find it necessary to distract me here…_

Suddenly I had a very dreadful, yet realistic, thought. _What if it is not _Sauron_? What if it's a _different_ Necromancer?_

I shook my head stubbornly, as if ridding myself physically of the worry. _No, no it can't be. We have gone this far without trouble: why would Curunîr bother to attack us so close to Helm's Deep?_

Although on the outside it seemed as if I was completely immersed in my thoughts, I was really quite aware of my surroundings. To my right, Gamling and Háma galloped over the crest of the hill to scout ahead of me. I ignored them momentarily, for they had foolishly passed out of my line of sight, and instead placed my attentions on areas beyond mortal eyes.

"What is it?" Gamling abruptly asked his companion in a rather anxious tone. "Háma?" Suddenly, the horses began whinnying and stomping: also nervously. I heard Háma shift in his saddle. "I don't know…" If the man had said anything else, I wouldn't have heard it. At that moment, a sharp spike of ice flashed its way up my back, almost making me jump in surprise. The horses were right to worry as they did: something was coming… something _evil_. I could feel it in every single one of my bones.

Suddenly, a flash of grey, dark movement caught my distant eyes. But before I could pinpoint exactly where the "thing" had come from or what it was, a loud, almost writhing snarl echoed from the cliffs, and the dark creature lumbered down the sheer rock face with all the grace of a troll. Gamling, Háma, and I all had exactly one split-second to think one, lone word. _Wargs._

One of the creatures that I had battled so often and knew so well charged down from it's place on the edge of the cliff; it's grey, almost black, coarse fur rippling over the powerful wolf-like muscles. Sharp, snarling teeth dripping with saliva snapped greedily towards the two scouts, and before any of us could react, the creature pounced upon Háma…and ripped his entire body apart.

By this time, I had sprinted over the rest of the hill to see the scene below me in the small valley. Gamling turned his horse around, completely stunned and frozen momentarily. I was a more experienced warrior, however, and I had learned many times over that in the event of an ambush, it is best to just get over the surprise as quickly as possible, and focus on survival.

Less than a second after Háma's untimely demise, I vaulted myself from the sharp hill I had been perched on, dropping around twenty meters to the ground below and landing on the balls of my feet. Without another moment of hesitation to gather my wits, I sprinted towards the now fighting captain and orc, who was riding atop the warg. I could tell that Gamling was losing…badly.

I drew an arrow and set it in my bow mid-run, firing with a sharp _twang_ and hitting the beast's left flank. The warg howled in agony, before dropping to the ground. Dead. The orc who had been riding was thrown off and landed a few meters away. I ran just a bit faster, drawing out the dagger hidden near my upper chest (thank the Valar the Rohirrim had returned it after Théoden's revival). The creature rolled onto his back, and – seeing me running towards him with a knife and a murderous expression – screeched in fear. I didn't give him a chance to recover, swooping in while keeping my momentum and slitting the orc's throat.

"El?!" I growled menacingly at the, now silenced, orc, and pushed his filthy corpse away from me in disgust. "A scout!" I shouted to Aragorn, whose eyes widened in understanding before bounding away to the other side of the hill to warn Théoden.

"Wargs! We are under attack!" I heard Aragorn shout to the King, and not long after, the panicked screams of the women and children of Rohan. Gamling looked shocked and bewildered; but had put up an expression of determined stoniness that all warriors acquired. I sheathed my dagger back into its small scabbard, and turned to face the captain and his skittish horse. "Go!" I commanded, motioning back towards the hill. "Aid your king and people!" Gamling looked like he was going to disagree, and I could see the reluctance in his face to leave a _woman_ alone with a pack of wargs. I huffed, rather irritated by his unnecessary qualms. Under other circumstances, I wouldn't have bothered saying anything about his concern: but this was an _ambush_, for pity's sake! Don't just sit there looking stunned! "I will be fine here, Captain: go!" I repeated, not bothering to check if he had followed my orders. I was already running towards the hill adjacent the cliffs: I had begun to hear the telltale rumblings of an approaching army.

From what I could hear from the Rohirrim, King Théoden had started issuing loud and firm commands to his warriors and villagers, whose panic had grown considerably in the past minute. Gimli was shouting something about helping him to get up on Arod; and Éowyn had started arguing with her uncle about allowing her to fight. I was not paying attention to these matters, however; for as I finally reached the pinnacle of the bluff, the indicatory barking and howling of the wargs grew louder and louder, until they reached the apogee opposite me, and charged down the incline.

I could hear the orcs' loud, angry battle cries, coupled with the wargs' snarling, for a few leagues back, but I could not yet estimate how many enemies we would be facing. It seemed as if there were dozens, maybe even more than a hundred.

Behind me, Théoden, with the help of Gamling and Aragorn, had finally managed to round up his warriors, and guide the women and children back the way we had come, with the help of Éowyn. I must admit, that even though I had full confidence in the woman's abilities, I was relieved she was staying behind. Somebody needed to aid the others to Helm's Deep, and it could have been dangerous for her as well: she would've tried to protect Aragorn and her uncle, and could've gotten herself killed in the process. Apparently, Gimli had succeeded in mounting and controlling Arod long enough to spur him over the hill, along with Aragorn and Théoden.

As soon as the first warg came into my longbow's range, I fit an arrow into the weapon and fired. My intended target yelped, before tripping over it's own paws and tumbling to the ground. The Rohirrim riders behind me drew a little closer; and inwardly, I was counting how long it would be until they reached me.

…_6, 5, 4…_

I drew yet another arrow, aimed, and fired, all within a split-second. Another warg and it's rider were killed.

…_3, 2…_

Without turning around, I knew that the Rohirrim were at my back and preparing to charge. I took a good grip on my bow, and spun around, only to find that Gimli and Arod were just a few inches from me.

…_1._

Gimli began to slow Arod down, so I could mount ahead of him, but there was simply no time for that. I steeled my feet, and as Arod came rushing past to my right, I grabbed the taut part of the horse's reins around his neck, and pushed off the ground. As expected, I swung around the galloping hooves and onto the saddle: Arod never broke stride once. Gimli sputtered incoherently from behind me, before growling something about "suicidal elves." I snickered quietly, and spurred Arod on to meet Aragorn's steed's pace. I was going to look after that man, even if it was the last thing I ever did.

The King led his warriors on past the pinnacle of another hill, before we descended into the valley where wargs and warriors would meet. Théoden raised his sword and roared a loud battle cry, signaling the official charge.

We met in the center of that sloped valley at full force. Wargs collided with horses at extreme speeds, killing both creatures and riders instantly. Spears were thrown at the orc riders, which gave us an advantage, since the orcs only carried short-range weapons like scimitars and swords. I immediately released the reins, trusting either Gimli or Arod to steer me in the right direction, and fired arrow after arrow at the opposing wargs and orcs. The dwarf shouted in surprise at my sudden lack of control over the horse, and quickly fumbled around my waist to catch the elusive reins. Adrenaline was already speeding through my veins, fast and hot, and completely burning out any icy feelings of dread and warning that may have come over me: I was settling into the grim and familiar mien of battle.

After a few kills on my part, Gimli suddenly roared in a mixture of surprise and impatience. The reins were released, and his hands around my waist disappeared abruptly as the dwarf slid off of Arod to the side, and rolled to his feet. I grabbed the reins and almost skidded to a halt to retrieve him, but he must have spotted the anxious look I sent back his way, and motioned for me to go on. I shrugged, returning my attention to the battle. _Maybe it's best this way. He wouldn't have been able to use his axe astride Arod anyway._

An orc tried to sneak up on me from my left flank as I turned around to look for Aragorn again; but I was aware of the creature before it's snickering started. Just as the orc raised his scimitar, I reached my hand out towards a fallen Rohirrim's dagger on the ground. The small weapon responded to my summoning, shooting up off of the ground and straight through the orc's forehead.

"Celende, Arod!" **| Go left, Arod! | **I said through gritted teeth, grabbing a hold of the reins and turning a sharp left as a staggering warg…well, _staggered_ past us. We missed the beast by inches.

I heard Gimli shouting at the enemies from only a few meters away from me. "Bring your pretty face to my axe!" He snarled, shifting on his two feet with a grim sneer as a rider-less warg crept up on the dwarf, showing his fangs. As I just so _happened_ to be riding past the scene, I drew an arrow and shot the warg that Gimli intended to be his. Said dwarf shouted in anger. "Argh! That one counts as mine!"

I flashed him a brief grin, before galloping back into the center of the battle. There, of course, I found Aragorn and Théoden: slaughtering wargs and orcs like they were cutting weeds. _Ah, _this_ is where I belong._

Everything was all a bit blurry after that. I had battled enough times to be able to settle into a steady rhythm; and Glorfindel's voice was my constant companion amidst the bloodshed, just as it had been in Moria. _Dodge, draw…and fire. Now reload, duck under that spear, and…wait for it…fire!_

I tried my best to keep an eye on all of my companions – who basically consisted of Estel, Gimli, and Théoden – but it was growing difficult when we each started pushing the enemy back away from us in different directions. I began relying on mental and metaphysical signals to alert me of possible danger…and the strain of that, combined with the fighting, was beginning to overwhelm me.

_I know exactly what Atto would say to this,_ I thought dryly, and a bit wearily, as I skewered one of the wargs, and then decapitated the rider. _"Why can you not just focus on your _own_ survival for once?! Every single time you ride to battle, you always end up sustaining either a mental or physical injury because of your almost fatal selflessness! Just think of yourself for a _moment_!_

Yes, that sounded about right.

My grip on my friends' feär **| souls | **was beginning to slip…I could barely even tell where the king was anymore. Then Gimli disappeared completely (though he was yelling so loud with every kill that I could guess where _he_ was). I attempted to hold on to Estel's light the longest…but after an orc's broadsword cut a shallow, yet bloody flesh wound into my right forearm, it was like my magical capability collapsed in exhaustion.

_I've lived 6500 years, and I still haven't managed to hold a spell during battle for more than a half an hour?! That's rather pathetic, Ellacári._

The one thing that comforted me was that I could, in fact, see or hear all of my friends _without_ the magic, for most of the battle. They were always in my sight, but when Estel suddenly disappeared after galloping after one of the wargs, I did not panic. I simply waited for him to return.

…But then slow, agonizing minutes passed by, and cold grip of fear clenched my heart. What if he was injured? What if he was being overwhelmed, and needed my aid? What if—?

I was pulled out of my despairing thoughts by a sudden silence on the battlefield. With one last, satisfying thrust of my knife, and one battle-cry from Gimli, the fight was over. The remaining orcs and wargs disappeared over the crest of the hill; but I had no doubt that they would return.

I quickly swung my bow around my back, and sheathed my knives after briefly wiping them clear of blood. Still no sign of Estel. Now my stomach was tied up in knots of panic. Why wasn't he here? Greeting me with that cocky grin, berating me for worrying so, like the mother hen that I was…that was what he should be doing. Where was he?

"Aragorn!" I called, jogging quickly up a small incline and looking around franticly. My palms were beginning to sweat in fear, and I was currently experiencing a horrible, gut wrenching case of déjà vu. I was brought back to a time nearly 3000 years ago, when it had been _Isildur_ who went missing at the Gladden Fields…and never returned alive.

"Aragorn?" Gimli shouted after a few seconds, a hint of slight panic in his voice and expression. Nothing. Now Théoden was starting to look worried as well. I swiveled my head and scanned the fields: maybe Estel was just unconscious, and could not answer. Maybe—

Something on the ground suddenly caught my attention: a small unconformity on the ground, drawing my focus to the edge of a cliff, where a raging river flowed below. I was no ranger, but I had been taught enough by Arathorn to know when something was amiss.

Stepping dismissively over the bodies of dead orcs, I bent down slightly, running my slender fingers over the scratches made in the bedrock. They seemed to be claw-like skid marks, like a warg had tried to dig its paws into the stone.

Behind me, where Gimli had been silently watching my examination, a sudden, grisly and rasping laugh pierced my musings and brought my attention back to my other surroundings. When I looked up, I saw that Gimli had brought his axe's point to the neck of an injured and dying orc; but this threat apparently just made the orc laugh harder. "Tell me what happened and I will ease your passing!" Gimli snarled, pressing his weapon's point closer to the monster's throat, and almost drawing blood (I was disappointed that it did not). Théoden had placed the care of his horse with Gamling, and so quickly made his way over to us: a troubled expression on his face.

I looked down upon that dying, monstrous creature, and narrowed my eyes: pouring as much hate and malice as possible into that one stare. It had the desired effect: the orc flinched back, and a look of intense fear and apprehension flashed across its face, giving me such satisfaction that a small part of my brain began to wonder if I was turning into a sadist.

The orc wheezed and coughed after breaking eye contact with me, and rasped out with a bitter grin, "He's…" there was another cough, before it said the one word that I had been dreading to hear for more than eight decades. "…dead. Took a little tumble off the cliff."

The first thought that came into my mind, was that the orc was lying to us. Of course the creature would want us to _believe_ that Estel was dead; it would want us to feel as much pain and fear as possible before it died. _There's no evidence…there's no evidence…there _can't _be any evidence…_

I repeated that thought like a reassuring mantra in my mind, before it occurred to me that there _was_, in fact, evidence. The strange markings I had scene near the cliffs edge…the mere fact that Estel was not responding to my calls. But that would mean that—

_Oh no._

"You lie!" I spat, my eyes murderous. I grabbed the orc by it's armor and shook it senseless. The creature looked like it was going to reply with something snotty and infuriating, but then its eyes widened, before going blank and lifeless. Black blood bubbled up inside its mouth as the thing took its last breath, and then it went silent and still. I released my grip on the armor, and the orc fell back onto the ground.

I was almost numb now…but still, absolute terror and disbelief was flooding my senses, nearly blinding me in their power. _It can't be…it can't be! Estel cannot be gone!_

I had almost managed to convince myself that this was not happening, when a glint of silver and light caught my eye: the orc had been holding something in his gnarly hand. I slowly unfolded the stiff, dead fingers and saw…

Oh Valar.

There, in the lifeless hand…lay a beautiful, jeweled necklace that I knew very well indeed. The Evenstar…Arwen Undómiel's pendant that she had given to Estel oh so many years ago. One of the few physical objects that Aragorn cherished so dearly. He would have _never_ let this go unless…unless he had had no other choice.

And I knew in that very moment…that my friend was indeed gone.

I pressed the back of my hand across my mouth, just barely stifling a scream. I staggered over to the cliff's edge, my eyes never leaving the necklace I still held in my hand. Théoden cautiously walked beside me, not interfering with my path yet; but Gimli had an arm stretched out towards me in case I suddenly collapsed, which was not such a wild possibility. I certainly felt like collapsing.

I somehow managed to reach the edge of the cliff, and all three of us looked down off the threshold…and watched silently at the raging water rapids below.

An elf may have been able to survive the fall, and the ice cold water below…but a human? There was simply no way. My teeth bit into my bottom lip so hard that blood dripped down my lip and unto the cold rock beneath me. I relished in the feeling of red hot pain racing across my lips: feeling physical pain…it was so much better than the mental and emotional anguish I was currently experiencing.

Half of my mind was crazed and bordering on violent; the other half was quietly crying in the back of my mind. Estel. Estel. Estel…why couldn't I protect you, Estel? Why couldn't I keep you safe?

Numbly, and completely ignoring my two companions beside me, I took a step closer to the edge. Several small rocks, disturbed by my footing, fell over the side. I could hear them clattering down.

"Ellacári?" Gimli ventured cautiously. I still did not move. "Ellacári," the dwarf said again, reaching out and planting an iron grip on my arm once he realized what I was thinking. I shuddered, and stumbled back – albeit reluctantly. The action cost me too much effort.

I couldn't speak, couldn't move…almost couldn't breathe. It felt like a gaping hole had been ripped into my chest, and I had been left dead and rotting for the carrion birds to devour. I didn't even care about the tears that had started silently streaming down my face, falling freely from my cheeks into the rushing river below. I didn't bother to hide my obvious agony from Gimli and Théoden: there was no point. No point to my petty problems of pride…no point to my arrogance, bravery, or courage. No point to anything I did on this quest anymore.

Théoden's hands clenched in that nervous habit of his, before he turned around from the sight of my tears to speak to his captains. "Get the wounded on horses. The wolves of Isengard will return." I still did not move; but when the king said his next order, I was filled with rage and anger. "Leave the dead."

My head swiveled around to meet the man's eyes with an astonished and murderous expression on my face. Théoden eyes flooded with sympathy, and he gently placed a hand on my shoulder…exactly like Estel used to do. I sobbed softly, raising my hand up and clawing at the place where my heart was, as if trying to find out why it hurt so much.

"Come." The King of Rohan whispered to me, smoothing my hair with his hand like a father would.

And that one thought – the feeling of Théoden smoothing my hair back – brought with it such a ridiculous belief. Suddenly, I did not want to continue on anymore. I didn't want to adventure, or battle, or fight in this stupid war. I just wanted to go home…to Mirkwood…to my Atto. I closed my eyes, but tears continued to leak from the edges. _I want my father…I want to go home…and more than anything, I want my elen-gwanûr back!_

But wishes rarely do come true.

Théoden left the cliff's edge after a few seconds, leaving to go find his horse so we could travel to Helm's Deep…and prepare for the battle that was sure to come. Could I fight in this confrontation? Could I even fight at all?

_I can. I must…it's what Estel would have wanted._

Gimli gripped my arm a little tighter, and, with surprising gentleness, led me towards Arod. That was when the stoicism set in.

I forced my mind to become completely blank and cold; free of any emotions. I then wiped the tears from my face, and took up a dark, dispassionate façade that hid the real emotional turmoil boiling beneath the surface. I would never again show my anguish to _anybody_; not even to Gimli. If I allowed such misery to wash over me completely…I had no doubt that I would drown in it.

* * *

The rest of the journey to Helm's Deep was so blurred in my mind, that looking back on it, I cannot even discern when the riding began, and when it ended. I suppose that Gimli managed to just drag my limp, numb body along, and deposit me atop Arod's saddle. From there, it's all just blank. I think I was just trying desperately to stay alive, to keep from either fading, or going completely insane.

If I am not completely incorrect, it only took approximately an hour for Helm's Deep to come into sight; and, momentarily, I forgot about Estel's death as Gimli and I stared up in awe at the refuge city. It was extremely tall and quite impressive for a mortal-made structure. A long, stone causeway curved along the mountainside, and led into a gate that was adjacent to the sheer rock wall. At the front of the fortress, was a long stone bridge that simply jutted straight out past the main tower. In this respect, it reminded me of Minas Tirith, the capital of Gondor which I had visited many times over the millennia. Fascination distracted me from my agony momentarily; but as it wore off, I just sank back into my cold, stoic world of despair and grief.

A small rational part of my mind argued that I should not do this to myself: to think about someone else but Estel. _What about your father? Or Haldir; Elladan; Elrohir; Elrond; Arwen; Gimli; Mithrandir; the hobbits?! Have you so quickly forgotten them in your grief?_ But the small, fading voice was washed away in the midst of my pain. Yes, pain: because Estel's death was not only emotionally tormenting…now it was beginning to physically hurt. My head and heart throbbed with a sharp ache that would not dissipate, no matter how hard I tried to make it go away.

Just like I had in Moria…and just like Aragorn had in Lothlórien…I was retreating in on myself; and slowly giving in to misery.

When we reached the big, black sturdy gate leading into the fortress's main courtyard (or so I assumed), one of the Rohirrim guards shouted to those inside, "Make way for the king! Make way for Théoden!"

Gimli took Arod's reins from where they had been resting on my legs. He clumsily whipped them, but managed to successful coerce Arod into a trot to truly arrive in Helm's Deep. "Just a little further, lass," He muttered. I did not answer. I had not spoken this entire trip: why would I respond to him now?

"Make way for the king!"

We finally made our way into Helm's Deep; and as soon as Gimli pulled Arod to a stop, a young stable boy took the reins from the dwarf, and held out his hand for me. I was honestly surprised that somebody had approached me without apprehension: for the whole trip after the battle, the Rohirrim had been shooting me strange glances, filled with a mix of sympathy, fascination, and trepidation. All this boy did was look me straight in the eye…and hold out his hand.

I stared at that hand for a second, before lowering my own hand, and clasping the stable boy's.

The boy's reaction was instantaneous: a bright, innocent smile lit up his face, and he lifted his arm to help me dismount the horse. I jumped down from the steed, before smiling weakly at the small boy and releasing his hand. The child nodded with understanding, before moving away and disappearing into the crowd.

Gimli gaped at me for a moment, as if astounded that an unknown boy had done what he hadn't managed to accomplish in a whole hour. I almost smiled at his expression…but a far more serious scene had caught my attention…and almost had me sinking into despair again.

Éowyn.

She had an innocent expression on her face as she hurried down a few steps to meet her uncle and warriors. The woman looked out upon our measly battalion, and her brow furrowed. "So few…so few of you have returned." _Oh, you cannot possibly know the ironic truth of your words, my friend. _I thought sadly.

Théoden dismounted his own horse, answering his niece yet refusing to look her in the eye. "Our people are safe. We have paid for it with many lives." The king then hurried away from Éowyn's confused form; leaving either Gimli or I to explain what had befallen Aragorn.

I spared a brief glance in Gimli's direction, and for a second our eyes met. Something passed between the dwarf and me in that moment…something sad and regretful…but also something that was understood and accepted.

Gimli lumbered over to Éowyn, coughing slightly to gain her attention and clear his throat. "My lady," he began.

"Lord Aragorn…where is he?" Éowyn asked, in a mildly worried tone. Gimli and I both flinched slightly at her choice of words. _Could this be any more difficult?_ The dwarf swallowed deeply: preparing himself for the break. "He fell." He said simply, his voice cracking slightly at the end (although he would never admit that).

I closed my eyes, allowing two small tears to leak out of my eyes and slide down both of my cheeks. _He fell. He fell…who knew that only two small words could bring about so much torment when put in a certain order._

I swallowed deeply, vainly trying to calm my now raging emotions. I knew that the road to healing after a loss like this was to let all of your feelings out…to never bottle yourself up. Mithrandir had taught me that. But I was not prepared at all to face the onslaught of reality and pure, unhindered agony…not yet…and not in front of all these people.

Without even bothering torelieve myself of any of my weapons, I hurried past a silent Gimli and a stunned Èowyn. Just as I rushed past the woman who had become my friend in the short time we had known each other, I saw the shocked, disbelieving look she sent me. Why was she looking at me like that? It wasn't _my_ fault…right?

_Maybe it _is _your fault…_a small voice echoed in the back of my head. _All you had to do was look after him: protect his mind and body, watch his back, and you failed to do even that. What kind of Vardáwa _**| Vessel of Elbereth | **_are you? Can't even protect one single man against all the might of a warg!_

I sniffled, my throat suddenly choked up and my eyes blurred with tears. I couldn't believe that he was gone…it seemed like such an impossibility before this. I had foolishly believed that no matter how much trouble Estel got himself into and how many battles he would fight in, that he would always pull through…would always emerge from the trials victorious. But I had been a fool.

Estel was of the Secondborn; I was of Elf-Kind. It was a stupid, unrealistic illusion that I had upheld for so long…one that said that maybe I would never have to face the bitter truth that my elen-gwanûrwould die.

I sobbed, staggering into a blissfully abandoned alley somewhere in the deep tunnels of Helm's Deep. It was as far as I could go.

I fell against the stone wall, the side of my head colliding with the hard, unyielding rock, but I did not notice or care.

Clutching that wall like it was the only thing keeping me afloat, I let out an anguished sob and truly collapsed in on myself; my knees going out from under me. Suddenly I couldn't support my own weight any longer.

My arms wrapped around my stomach in a fetal position as I bowed my head against the wall. It felt like my heart was shattering…my head being blown to bits and my soul being ripped out by Lord Mandos himself. I sobbed against the cold stone, tears now freely streaming down my cheeks.

"Mandos!" I said in a voice that sounded like a mix between a moan and a wail, nearly delirious. "Anno nîn Estel! Ni káno le!" **| Give me back Estel! I command you! |**

A small, yet ominous rumbling sounded from above me, deep in the depths of the sky: I doubted that anyone else noticed. But I did not back down from my pleas to the Lord. "Ni vá caure le!" **| I do not fear you! |** I sobbed, tear-filled eyes lifting bravely to the sky. "Saes, heru-nîn! Saes, yána hon!" **| Please, my lord! Please, spare him! |**

Another rumbling shook the sky; this one a little more threatening and disillusioned. But I would not give up on my pleading so easily. "Hon vá firint sí! Vá sí!" **| He is not supposed to die yet! Not yet! |**

After that last remark, the sky went abruptly silent and still: Mandos had abandoned me in my time of need once again…just like he had with Mithrandir…just like he had with Boromir.

I sobbed once again, exhausted and rather furious by my defeat and refused plea by the god.

"Ellacári!" A shocked, concerned voice cried from behind me, and I heard the telltale sounds of a dress swishing, and light steps as Èowyn spotted me in the alley and came rushing forward. _How did I not hear her? I must be pretty far gone to not even notice a mortal woman so close behind me._

Gentle hands worn with the signature calluses of swordplay wrenched my hands away from my stomach, and held them within her own. "Ellacári, my friend: are you hurt? Were you injured in the—"

I sobbed harder, my hands trembling within Èowyn's own, kind and reassuring grasp. "Ellacári, you are frightening me! What has—?"

"He's gone!" I sobbed, resting my suddenly weary head upon the other woman's shoulder. "He's gone, Èowyn! Gone!" I cried, tears already soaking her dress from where I had placed my face in the crook of her neck.

Èowyn suddenly stiffened with grief, and she wrapped her arms around me in a comforting gesture that I had longed for the whole ride back to Helm's Deep.

"I know," she murmured, smoothing my hair away from my tearstained face, very much like Théoden had on the battlefield. "I know."

I do not know how long I wept into Èowyn's shoulder…all I do know, is that after a few minutes, the Lady of Rohan began to sing. It was the same exact hymn she had sung at her cousin, Théodred's, funeral…an event that seemed centuries ago, but in truth, was only a few short days. The only difference…was that she had translated the lyrics into the Common Tongue…and if possible, the tears flowed faster down my cheeks.

_Estel…oh, mellon-nîn. Why, oh why did you have to go?_

"An evil death has set forth the noble warrior,  
A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels.  
On Middle-Earth, that he is no more,  
That he is nowhere anymore, for his necessary rest.  
And that he is the dearest kinsmen,  
Killing took him…"

* * *

Translations –

_Celende, Arod – Go left, Arod_

**Feär – Souls**

_Vardáwa – Vessel of Elbereth_

_Anno nîn Estel! Ni káno le! – Give me back Estel! I command you!_

_Ni vá caure le! – I do not fear you!_

_Saes, heru-nîn! Saes, yána hon! – Please, my lord! Please, spare him!_

_Hon vá fírint sí! Vá sí! – He is not supposed to die yet! Not yet!_

* * *

**Word-Count: 6,069**

**There's not much to say in this last A/N…just a small note about my beliefs on this chapter. I know Ellacári is kinda seeming psychopathic here, but I because of the ****really**** strong bond I established with her and Aragorn (and I mean ****REALLY**** strong), that the 'loss' would hit her really hard (after all, it obviously shook Legolas up in the movie: you can see it in his eyes). So she's kinda delirious and numb here in this chapter, but now that she's let out all her bottled up emotions, the coping should get a bit better…**

**Until the next chapter!**

**Naamarie!**

**~CC. **


	23. Saving Grace

**Disclaimer: Nothing recognizable belongs to me (I'm beginning to run out of things to say in these disclaimers…). Niulm does, though (and you'll see who that is after you read!)**

**Thank you for everybody who reviewed the last chapter! Believe me, I was on the verge of crying after writing that one, too! But no worries: this one will be on a much lighter note! But anyway, in the matter of reviews, I'll try to reply to every signed review I've gotten before I update this chapter—and I'll reply to the 1 anonymous one below (because I believe that **_**everybody**_** should get a response to their review! *smiles*):**

"**Alli" – Lol, I've totally been there (my parents are convinced that I've lost my sanity a ****very**** long time ago…). Thank you so much for the review! :)**

**There seems to be so many tragedies going in on my life lately…I just haven't really had time to update. First, there's the earthquake in Japan; then TWO bus accidents near where I live (17 people dead); my uncle was laid off from his job; and on top of all that, my dad's friend died from lung cancer on March 16****th****…AND one of my friend's mother passed away on March 18th…it has been a very tough month to say the least, so I truly apologize for keeping the wait for a while longer than I had intended!**

Chapter 23 – Saving Grace

* * *

"…**Well, at last we set off! Men need many words before deeds. My axe is restless in my hands. Though I doubt not that these Rohirrim are fell-handed when they come to it…"**  
**~ Gimli, "The King of the Golden Hall"**

* * *

The moments that I have spent truly and wholly _itching_ for a fight can indeed be counted on the fingers of only my two hands. There was the time after my mother's death, as well as after Celebrian's and Isildur's passings…but in retrospect, I can trace back at least one of these instances of yearning for violence to the half dozen hours after we arrived at Helm's Deep.

The time that passed during that period of preparation seemed like _millennia_ to my eyes, so tedious and seemingly endless as they were. Èowyn and Gimli had begun shadowing me anxiously after my sobbing-fit had finally ceased; and had not stopped until I had finally turned on them and shouted that I would _not_, in fact, be hurting myself any time soon, contrary to popular belief. They had then left me and my brooding alone after that irritated outburst…and leaving me, once again, alone with my thoughts.

Which, perhaps, was not the _best_ thing that could have happened, under those particular circumstances.

_At least with those two following me, I had something to focus on other than…well, _him._ Now, I have nothing to distract me!_

To counter effect the depression which would almost inevitably set in, I quickly immersed myself completely in the work that Èowyn and a few of Théoden's captains had assigned me: refusing myself any time at all to think and wonder. _If I can just last until the battle, then everything will be fine. As long as I keep my mind occupied until the Orcs arrive…then maybe I can survive the rest of this War._

But you know what they say: things are much easier said than done.

I had been working furiously and almost franticly for nearing four hours, when Èowyn and Gimli returned from wherever they had been to "check up" on me.

That was when Èowyn discovered my injury.

It was a small flesh wound, really, of no concern to _me_, who had once gotten an arrow straight through her heart (literally and metaphorically). But of course, both Èowyn and Gimli completely overreacted, ranting on about how I shouldn't be overtaxing myself, how this wasn't what Aragorn would have wanted, etcetera etcetera.

_These two are driving me INSANE!_ I wanted to scream: instead choosing to pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh deeply. The disapproving rants continued. _If somebody had told me that one day I would be lectured by a _dwarf_, for not taking care of myself, I would have thought they were delusional._

"Gimli! Èowyn!" I shouted, balling my hands into fists before forcing myself to unclench them. _Valar, I'm turning into Théoden._ "I do not need to rest: I am an elf! And, as you very well know, elves have no need of sleep as mortals do!" At the two's simply aghast – quickly turning into fearsome – expressions, my temper softened a bit, a melancholic sigh escaping my lips. I did not have the energy to argue with these two stubborn mules. "Please, mellyn-nîn **| my friends |**…can you just leave me be? Please?"

Gimli and Èowyn glanced at each other pensively, as if considering whether to allow my request. Finally, Gimli grunted – seemingly detached – and Èowyn sighed in resignation. "Only if you promise to get some rest, Ellacári," She argued, crossing her arms resolutely. "I do not care about the claims of Elvish stamina: you will need all your strength for the battle. And address the wound yourself if you will not allow anyone else to."

I narrowed my eyes, before spinning around on my heel and stalking back to the miniscule quarters that had been assigned to me. "Ni gar láv _Estel_ an pán sa." **| I would have allowed **_**Estel**_** to address it |** Of course, I immediately regretted the words after they had left my mouth; and I immediately regretted being so bitter to Gimli and Èowyn. They were just trying to help, after all. I almost considered turning back and apologizing for my harsh words; but then decided against it. No…no, I would just do as Èowyn asked, and return to my quarters. But only for a few minutes…I would never forgive myself if I fell asleep in my room, and awoke to find the battle over and done with.

* * *

Just as I had mentally promised Èowyn, I properly dressed and bandaged the small injury I had received from a stray orc's broadsword in the confrontation in the valley. In truth, I could have just healed the flesh wound using magical means; but I decided that the energy it required would not be worth it. Healing magic took much effort and energy on my part: when I had had to heal one of Elrohir's wounds after a battle, I fell unconscious a moment after finishing the act, and did not awake until the twins had hauled me back to Imladris. And I wouldn't risk that kind of possibility with such a shallow hurt, which would be healed in a few hours anyway.

I sighed, leaning back onto the bed of straw and leaning my forehead against the cold stone wall. Under the circumstances, the bed was truly not that bad – I had certainly slept on worse – and soon, almost against my will, I found my eyes glazing over with the effects of Elven sleep…

* * *

"…_I amar prestar aen. Han mathon ne nen, han mathon ne chae a han noston ned wilith…"_ **| The world is changing. I can feel it in the water, I can feel it in the earth, I can smell it in the air |**

_I drifted past the fallen leaves…the bright lamps…the towering mallorn trees whispering slowly, yet swiftly. The rushing water of the Nimrodel_ _flooding my senses and calming me with a sweet, watery lullaby._

_This was peace. This was paradise._

"_Why am I here?" I said to myself. Surprisingly, someone answered._

"_You are _not_ here."_

_A pure and angelic being floated down from the familiar set of alabaster stairs. "I care to disagree." I answered, my voice laced with sarcasm. I then turned to face Galadriel, Lady of Light, and watch her glide down to where I stood. Apparently my reply did not prove worthy enough in her eyes, for my Lady completely ignored my snide remark, and continued on as if I had never spoken. "You are not _supposed_ to be here."_

Well, that'll really make an elf feel welcome_, I thought with a raised eyebrow. "Then why am I, milady?" I asked, now back at my original point. _This conversation has been, thus far, rather pointless.

"_Milady?" I asked again. Galadriel's features were completely smooth and stoic, pinning me with her relentless, cool stare that made me flinch, and avoid her gaze. "Lady Galadriel?" I whispered, my façade of detachment and sarcasm slipping a bit._

"_The power of the Enemy is growing," Galadriel finally said, her eyes distant as she floated around me in a slow circle. "Sauron will use his puppet, Saruman, to destroy the people of Rohan."_

_I cocked my head. "You are not speaking to me…are you, milady?" Galadriel did not answer directly; she simply continued on her monologue, as if I was not even there. "Isengard has been unleashed. The Eye of Sauron now turns to Gondor. The last free kingdom of Men."_

_I was silent for a few minutes, before drifting through the clearing and coming to a stop at the edge of the forest. "Who?" I said stoically. "Who are you speaking to?" There was no visible change to Galadriel's countenance, nor to her stance. But suddenly, she was once again talking to me. "He who is at a crossroads. He who is my son."_

_I closed my eyes, resigned. "Lord Elrond, then." Again, Galadriel did nothing to refute or accredit my assumption._

_I looked down again. "Why am I here?" I asked again. Galadriel drifted up behind me, resting a soft hand on my shoulder. "You are not." I sighed, not bothering to argue this point with her anymore. "Then what is this, if not reality?"_

_The other elf was silent for a moment, before answering. "Somewhere in between." I pursed my lips tensely. "Somewhere in between _where_?" I muttered, almost reaching up to pinch the bridge of my nose, but somehow restraining myself._

_This time, Galadriel did not answer; but instead, raised her other hand and pointed somewhere in the distance. The scene faded around us, and suddenly, I was in a space which I recognized immediately. It was Arwen's room…in the very depth of her home in Imladris.__But there was no one in the chamber; it was completely and utterly empty. "Arwen…mellon-nîn…" I murmured worriedly, before spinning to face the Lady beside me. "Where is she?" Galadriel did not reply; nor did she move._

_The scene faded around us once again. This time, we found ourselves within a small house, which I also recognized swiftly: but this time…it was Haldir's house. I watched with palpable confusion as my cousin fiddled within, putting on battle armor and sharpening his sword. He did not notice me or Galadriel._

"_Milady, what is going on here?" I asked frantically. "What is happening?!"_

_Galadriel did not answer, but simply waved her hand again. The scenery changed, and suddenly, we were back in the original clearing. "What is the purpose of this?" I said angrily. "What are you trying to show me?"_

_Galadriel shook her head, and pierced me with one of the fiercest stares I have ever experienced in my very long life. The trees and scenery around me suddenly blurred, speeding so quickly around Galadriel's form and my own that I could no longer distinguish any individual flora. Suddenly, the whole world went completely black, and the ground beneath my feet crumbled beneath me and I fell into a void of pure darkness._

_And all I could hear was the Lady of Lothlórien's willowy voice whispering stoic queries into my ears. "The time of the elves is over. Do we leave Middle-Earth to this fate? Do we let them stand alone?"_

* * *

I awoke in the straw mattress panting and gasping, a cold sweat completely covering my body. It took me a few, painful moments to remember where I was: Rohan, Helm's Deep, and on the verge of a battle.

I swallowed painfully, putting a hand to my throbbing head. What was that? A vision…a message? Had the Lady of Lothlórien been trying to contact me? Warn me?

I groaned, rising up out of the bed, and attempting to stand. Somehow, I felt more weary than I had before taking the short nap. _Wonderful. Looks like my chances of survival tonight just became a little bit slimmer._

I pressed the palms of my hands wearily into my eyes, barely repressing a heavy sigh, and moving towards a small pitcher that one of the women or children – perhaps even Èowyn herself – had left within my room. The water it held was not ice cold as I would have preferred, but the lukewarm temperature would have to do. Breathing in deeply, I took a big handful of the liquid, and drenched my face, hair, and neck with the water.

Just as I had expected, my senses immediately became alert; my body and mind shaking off any last remnants of the disorienting vision. The dream – or more accurately, the nightmare – had shaken me more than I was comfortable admitting, even to myself. _Half of it didn't even make any sense! Then again…dreams rarely do._

I sighed, breathing out deeply and immediately calming myself. "That's what it was: just a dream, Ellacári. Just a dream." A huge whoosh of air escaped my lips, and I quickly set about drying my hair and face so I could emerge from my room not looking like the complete wreck that I was.

_It's all Estel's fault_, I thought, agony lacing every single inward word, as I rebraided my hair. _If I hadn't loved him so damn much, I wouldn't have fallen so far after his…absence.  
_

I quickly gathered up my bow, slung the refilled quiver of arrows over my back, and reattached the two sheathed knives to my waist. The feel of the weapons settling into the familiar places on my person soothed me slightly; giving me something real and physical to cling to amidst my turbulent emotions.

I turned around and, on the straw bed, next to where I had rested my knives, lay the small Evenstar pendant…Aragorn's pendant…Arwen's pendant. _Oh, Arwen…I failed you as well…I promised you that I would protect him…and look where that got us. I suppose I have been breaking many promises lately. _I sighed, but gingerly picked up the silver chain and hung the sparkling jewel in front of my eyes. I did not want to wear it myself: even though I was fairly confident that neither Estel, nor Arwen would really mind much, the action felt too much like a betrayal…or maybe like disregard (I was not sure which one would be worse). After musing about my predicament for a few seconds, I finally made up my mind; I carefully wound the slender chain in a small coil, and delicately placed the precious medallion in one of my front pockets, where I could feel its warm presence pressed close to my heart.

I spun around, and breathing deeply once more for good measure, opened the door and left the sanctuary of my small, temporary quarters. Hopefully, they would be given to someone who needed them more than I when the battle started; maybe it would shelter some of the injured men after the orcs arrived.

I wandered the meandering halls of Helm's Deep for a few minutes, before finally recognizing the young boy who had helped me sharpen spears a few hours previous, for the very small armory in the refuge. "Milady!" He said, with a nervous, yet questioning smile. I smiled kindly back at him. "Hello, Niulm. Tell me, have you seen King Théoden, or perhaps Captain Gamling, lately?"

Niulm bowed his head respectfully, blushing slightly whenever my eyes met his. _Hmm…_I thought with an inward smile: truly amused for the first time since Estel's fall. _Definitely smitten. Oh, the poor boy…he doesn't look much older than his sixteenth summer! I believe he would rethink his…desires if he knew that _my_ age is more than 400 times his own. _"Nay, milady…but I believe your dwarf friend is out near the Deeping Wall."

I smiled thankfully at him. "Ah, thank you, penneth." He nodded back at me, and just as I made to turn around and search for Gimli, an out-of-breath Rohirrim soldier came running up to me, panting lightly. He quickly swallowed his gasps, bowing to me, and saying in a rush of breath. "My-my lady! I was just looking for you! I was told…" another gulp. "I have come to tell you that he…he has returned! He has come back to us!"

My heart automatically sped up at his frantic words, but my logical side immediately quashed the rising hope. _It cannot be him…it is impossible. _

"Peace, maethor **| warrior |**…go slowly," I said, my voice surprisingly shaky. I rested a calming hand on his arm, before asking in a trembling voice. "_Who_ has returned?"

"You see, it is a miracle, milady! A true miracle! Lor-lord Aragorn, he has come back from the grave!"

* * *

Moments that I have spent itching for a fight are indeed very few; but an even smaller number is the number of moments I have been struck completely and utterly speechless. And this…this was one of those moments.

I stood shock still for a total of three seconds, my mind and body turning almost numb the second the last word left the soldier's mouth. Everything in my life…my body…seemed to _stop_ at that exact, precise moment…the wind stopped blowing, the men stopped talking, the soldier stopped gasping…I, myself, stopped breathing.

The world was completely silent in those three seconds that seemed like an eternity.

Until, of course, the fourth second ticked down upon me, and the entire universe crashed down on my shoulders as time – and with it, the ability to move – resumed around me.

I ran.

I ran faster than I had done in a very, _very_ long time…I outright sprinted to the edge of the wall, ignoring the soldier's heavy breathing and the astounded gasp of the boy…what was his name again? "Niu" something? It seemed to have escaped my mind amidst the utter chaos my world had spiraled into. But now…now the chaos was not of tortured agony…but of desperate hope.

_Could it really be?! Could he really be alive?! Could the Valar have heard my prayers?!_

I hit the stone wall with all the force of a battering ram, nearly flying over it in my haste, and looked down with wide eyes.

And there he was.

Bedraggled, injured, weary, and thoroughly washed out…riding on a horse that I had never seen before…was Aragorn, son of Arathorn; also known as Estel of the House of Lord Elrond, and Strider, Ranger of the North. And, at that moment, the most welcome and joyous sight that I had ever laid eyes upon.

_Oh, Valar, it is true! He is alive! Thank you, Lord Mandos…thank you, thank you, thank you!_

Reluctantly, I tore my intense gaze from the man; choosing, instead, to sprint away from my place at the wall, and dash through the enclosed, stone halls of Helm's Deep.

_Damn these levels! _I screamed inwardly, sliding on my right foot after an especially sharp turn came out of nowhere. _I should've just jumped down from that wall! It wouldn't have been _that_ big of a fall: I could've survived!_

I skidded slightly on the slick cobblestone, then recovered, and sprinted left. A sharp exclamation came from the courtyard outside; and I was beginning to hear Gimli's relieved rants echoing up from where he had met Estel. "…the luckiest, the cunningnest, and the most reckless man I ever knew!" There was a slight clang of armor, as, I assumed, Gimli threw his arms around the ranger. "Bless you, laddie! Bless you!"

I finally stopped abruptly in the middle of a small foyer: the small space before entering the main hall where King Théoden's conferences had been held only a few hours ago. Many of the men looked at me with startled expressions – stunned that, although I had run at full speed from the top level of the refuge, not one hair was out of place – but I ignored them. All that mattered now was Estel.

"Gimli," his wonderful, rough timber of a voice, just barely shadowed with weariness, yet a strong sense of happiness as well, said to the dwarf. "Where is the King?"

Gimli did not audibly answer; and so, I did not know what had happened until Aragorn's heavy, purposeful steps sounded throughout the hall.

The man was so determined and distracted that he very nearly ran into me. He managed to stop just in time before colliding with me full force; and the second that he raised his stormy silver eyes, and met my own…my heart nearly imploded from happiness. But I did not show my outward torment and relief yet…not yet.

"Le abdollen." **| You're late |** I said dryly, cocking my head with raised eyebrows, and crossing my arms in front of me. Aragorn's pure incredulity and shock actually rippled across his face; and, unintentionally, I heard his thoughts echo alongside my own. _A whole day I was missing. One day that I know must have been torture for her…and _this_ is how she responds?_

I just barely stifled a joyous smile; instead, keeping up the charade of detachment for just a little longer. I looked him over with a critical eye, one eyebrow raised throughout it all, before looking him straight in the eye, and saying impishly in the Common Tongue, "You look terrible."

Aragorn was struck speechless for another moment, before a knowing grin broke out upon his face, and he chuckled mirthfully. "I would," he said, smiling as he caught several free-flying strands of my golden hair and tuck them safely behind one of my pointed ears. "I _did_ fall off a cliff, Cári."

His rough, calloused fingers brushed against my cheek, and just like that, all pretense of amusement and teasing disappeared.

"Estel." A small whisper escaped my lips…just one little moan, pained and small; and I lost my nerve, my mind, my control.

I launched myself bodily at the ranger, driving all the air out of his lungs, and clung to his form tightly: very clear in my intention of never letting go. "Estel…Estel…Estel…" I chanted, my hands starting to tremble as I gripped the front of his shirt with desperate joy and relief.

Tears streamed down my cheeks free and unhindered now and soaked Aragorn's shirt…and I did not even care if the other Rohirrim saw my weakness. All I knew was Estel's comforting, strong and warm arms encircling my quivering form. Blocking out all the pain, all the sorrow, all the hopelessness. "Shh…lasto na le, mellon-nîn…im hi…im cuin…baw-ennas nír hí." **| Shh…listen to me, my friend…I am here…I am alive…there is no need for tears now |**

I clung to that man as if he was the only thing keeping me afloat in a rushing river. But both of us knew that we could not stay there in each other's arms forever. There were pressing matters to attend to…important things needed to discuss. And so…it was with great and heavy reluctance, that I finally released my best friend from my desperate embrace, and wiped the tears from my eyes.

He smiled gently at me, and I returned the gesture, rubbing the last remnants of wetness from my face. I was almost completely sure that I looked like a disaster anyway: a huge difference from my usual put-togetherness, which was always to a point only this side of vain. I could _feel_ the redness of my eyes, as well as the burning from the tears I had shed.

Aragorn let out a noise that sounded halfway between a choked sob and a relieved laugh, before pulling me into another tight, albeit brief, hug. "Aragorn," I whispered as I reluctantly pulled back, suddenly remembering something that would certainly cheer the man even more. I fumbled with the front pocket in my shirt, and finally managed to retrieve the elusive jewel.

I held Arwen's Evenstar within the palm of my hand, hidden from his sight momentarily, and Aragorn reached out to accept the gift with a confused expression. But it was not confused for long.

I understood then, at that moment, as I looked upon Aragorn's face, that even if I lived for another thousand years – which I was wont to do – I would never forget the sight of the Heir of Isildur's eyes lighting up the way they did when he realized that I had rescued the only physical memento of his lost love.

His mouth was open in an astonished gape for a silent moment, before he looked up from his staring and looked at me with loving silver eyes. "Hannon le," he whispered, reaching up to cup my cheek in the palm of his hand. I smiled brightly at him, reaching into his mind and thought-speaking, _No, Estel…thank _you_._

Estel smiled, before reaching up around his neck and reattaching his Undómiel to his neck, replacing it inside his shirt and keeping it close to his heart. He then strode forward, gripping my arm along the way, and opened the doors to Théoden's chambers.

Whatever was coming next, I knew then that we could handle it. Nothing could ever be so horrible or disastrous again…not while I had Estel by my side.

* * *

Translations –

**Mellyn-nîn – My friends (plural)**

_Ni gar láv Estel an pán sa – I would have allowed Estel to address it_

_I amar prestar aen. Han mathon ne nen, han mathon ne chae a han noston ned wilith – The world is changing. I can feel it in the water, I can feel it in the earth, I can smell it in the air.  
_

**Maethor – Warrior**

**Le abdollen – You're late**

**Shh…lasto na le, mellon-nîn…im hi…im cuin…baw-ennas nír hí – Shh…listen to me, my friend…I am here…I am alive…there is no need for tears now.**

* * *

**Word-Count: 3,969**

**I know this one is a lot shorter than some other chapters I've written (I usually try for at least 5000 for each chapter), but I wanted to get this out soon, and I didn't want to crowd everything together. Around this part in the story, everything starts getting exciting, so I didn't want to bunch everything together into one chapter. *smiles* so, I'm sorry about the short update, but I promise I'll try to get out the next one ASAP!**

**Until next time…**

**Naamarie!**

**~CC. **


	24. Calm Before the Storm

**Disclaimer: No recognizable characters, settings, or events belong to me…they all belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, Peter Jackson, and/or New Line Cinema!**

**Sorry that the update wait was so long…I just decided to take a small break from the realm of Middle-Earth…and before long, I found myself crawling back, asking for forgiveness *grins* I just can't stay away! So, here is your loyal writer, back for more action, angst, a few laughs, and a whole lot of romance (TBA *winks*). **

**Besides that, there's not much to say in this A/N! I'll just reply to 2 anonymous reviews, and then get right on to the chapter (and I promise, to all the signed reviews I got, I'll try to reply soon!)**

"**Alli" – Thank you so much for sticking with me, and continuing to review (your input always makes me smile! =D )! Thank you for the virtual hug *smiles* RL has definitely gotten a lot better during my brief hiatus, and my life is basically back to its normal, hectic self (albeit a little more sullen then before). And yeah, writing emotional chapters is always really fun for me! :) I really enjoy putting such intense feelings such as relief, sadness, or joy into my characters! :)  
**

"**Dillila" – Oh my gosh, I am so sorry for your loss! :'( and please, don't be sorry that you haven't reviewed…you must have so many other things on your mind right now. :'( Thank you for the positive review, though; and no, I wouldn't mind seeing red's draft for the next review, if it isn't too much, that is. Again, I am so very sorry about your loss… :(**

**Alright, a slight warning for this chapter: no bloodshed yet, but I think there's two slight swears in here (depending on what you think is a swear, that is…), so sorry if I offended anybody…*raises eyebrow***

**Alright then, here we go! **

Chapter 24 – Calm Before the Storm

* * *

"**Nonetheless day will bring hope to me…Is it not said that no foe has ever taken the Hornburg, if men defended it?"**

**~ Aragorn**

"**So the minstrels say."**

**~ Èomer**

"**Then let us defend it, and hope!"**

**~ Aragorn, "Helm's Deep"**

* * *

_This is a complete and utter disaster!_

Looking back on it, I believe my time at Helm's Deep was one where I experienced very intense emotions that I had not undergone in many a century. For I had only been this horrified a handful of times. And this…this was pretty horrifying.

_When did things turn from joyous relief to absolute terror?_

I thought about that for a moment, before mentally answering myself.

_I suppose it was around the time my elen-gwanûr stepped through the door of this hall. Why must Estel always either attract danger, be the bearer of bad news, or, frequently, both?_

"A great host, you say?" Théoden asked, his hand-clenching going at full speed.

Aragorn was standing next to Gimli and I – his hand still clasping mine (I had been extremely reluctant to part from him after his miraculous return, to the point where I was not allowing, under any circumstances, an absence of physical contact). "All Isengard is emptied."

Théoden breathed deeply, his nervous habits only visible to me. "How many?"

The king, Gimli and I all braced ourselves for the man's answer. "Ten thousand strong at least."

I inhaled sharply, and Gimli stiffened perceptibly. Théoden turned around to face us, horror written across his features. "Ten thousand?!"

Aragorn squeezed my hand in support, making me unintentionally loosen my muscles. "It is an army bred for a single purpose: to destroy the world men."

When Théoden didn't reply, Aragorn went on. "They will be here by nightfall."

The King of Rohan's eyes widened briefly, before narrowing and hardening in determination. "Let them come."

Now my own eyes widened. Was he insane?! As Théoden turned to leave with his captains, I spun on Aragorn. "Estel, I have seen armies of _elves_ defeated by an Orc militia _half_ that size!" Then, in a softer voice, I added with a hiss, "This is suicide!"

Estel ushered Gimli and I to follow the King out of the main hall. "Ellacári, daro **| stop |**.Théoden—" "—needs to know the consequences of his actions! This could be disas—"

"I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms, to be ready for battle by nightfall." Théoden commanded from ahead of us, interrupting my argument.

A swallowed a lump of bile that had lodged itself in my throat at the implications of that order. _Every strong lad…every _strong lad_…Oh Elbereth, these are only _children_ he is commanding to fight! _I suddenly felt very ill.

"We will cover the causeway and the gate from above," Théoden continued. Aragorn, Gimli and I hurried after the King: for my part, I was struggling to keep my expression stoic, and without a hint of the panic I was really feeling.

"No army has ever breached the Deeping Wall; nor set foot inside the Hornburg!" He said, placing his hands on his hips as we stood upon the long winding pathway I had rode up just hours before.

He nodded in approval – as if confirming his own words of encouragement – before turning to face the door, and…Gimli.

My dwarvish friend had his arms crossed, and was leaning against the door with his ax. "This is no rabble of mindless Orcs," he warned with a growl. "These are _Uruk-hai_. Their armor is thick and their shields broad."

Théoden's eyes narrowed in slight contempt, looking at Gimli the way Èomer first had on the plains of Rohan (which, unbelievably, had only happened a little more than a week ago). I had that urge to defend my friend again as well, but I would've probably been arrested for assaulting the King if I had acted on it.

"I have fought many wars, Master Dwarf. I know how to defend my own keep." He walked through the door, passing a disgruntled dwarf on the way. I couldn't hold my tongue any longer.

"And with all due respect, Théoden King," I said, referring to the man in the way of his people, "I have fought in _dozens_ of wars, and have killed millions of the Enemy's creatures. Trust me when I say that Saruman's army will _destroy_ this city!" I finished, my eyes pleading and sincere.

Théoden glared at me, a hint of a dismissal in his eyes: as if my advice was not sound. My eyes narrowed at that. "They will break upon this fortress like water on rock." He countered smartly. "Saruman's hordes will pillage and burn, we've seen it before."

I considered retorting with, _'Oh, so you have _personally_ seen it before? Weren't under that yearlong spell? Or have you already forgotten about that?' _But at the last moment, I considered it unwise to both my health and my freedom.

"Crops can be resown. Homes rebuilt. Within these walls," he finished with a nod, "we will outlast them."

Aragorn beat me to the response. "They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops or villages. They come to destroy it's people. Down to the last child!"

With a sudden flash of movement that belied the king's age, Théoden spun around and met the Heir of Isildur's eyes with a fierce glare. "What would you have me do?" He hissed angrily. "Look at my men. Their courage hangs by a thread. If this it to be our end, then I would have them make such an end, as to be worthy of remembrance!"

Aragorn met the King's glare unflinching for a few seconds, before saying in a vehement plea, "Send out riders, my lord. You must call for aid!"

Théoden snorted with grim amusement. "And who will come?! Elves?" He said with a scoff, motioning his head at me with disgust. I glared silently, though did not speak. "Dwarves?" He did the same with Gimli. "We are not so lucky in our friends as you. The old alliances are dead."

I narrowed my eyes at that: did he not know that I myself, along with hundreds of other Elves, had spent centuries of their lives giving aid to the world of Men? That I had protected Elros's descendents – from Isildur to Aragorn – for centuries before he was even born? _Maybe to _you_ the old alliances are gone,_ I thought to myself. _But to us, Théoden, to the elves…those bonds still linger._

Aragorn breathed deeply for a moment, considering his response, before saying with complete conviction, "Gondor will answer."

This answer seemed to infuriate Théoden even more. "Gondor?" He spat, incredulous. "Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell? Where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us?! Where was Gon—" He abruptly stopped his tirade, eyes narrowing to pale slits. "No, my Lord Aragorn. We are alone."

Aragorn stared at the king for a moment longer, before sighing softly. Théoden turned away from him, shouting to his commanders. "Get the women and children into the caves."

One of the captains (Gamling) hesitantly contradicted. "We need more time to lay provisions for the siege, Lord—"

"There is no time!" Théoden shot back. "War is upon us!" I actually heard Gamling's heart rate speed up, but he and the king quickly moved away to prepare. "Secure the gate!" The captain shouted, and a dozen soldiers moved to follow out his orders.

Aragorn stood there for a moment longer, watching the commotion around us with stormy grey eyes. Gimli and I looked at each other, and I could tell he was about to speak up when the man spun around, storming down the halls with long strides that belied his obvious exhaustion.

Gimli and I glanced at each other again.

"Laddie…"  
"Estel…"

We said at the same time, spinning around and following him down the stairs.

"Estel, you just _fell off a cliff_! Please…let me…"

"We'll place the reserves along the wall," Aragorn motioned to the walls, completely ignoring my plea. "They can support the archers from above the gate."

I growled (Estel should've remembered that I absolutely _hate _being ignored), and jogged a little faster to face him. I placed a hand on his chest: completely blocking his path. "Aragorn, you must rest! You are no use to us half alive!"

Aragorn raised both of his eyebrows (about the shoot back some witty, sarcastic reply, no doubt), when all of the sudden, Éowyn came rushing towards us. "Aragorn!" she cried, and I raised my eyebrow in curiosity. _They're on a first name basis now? Where was I when this happened?_

Éowyn arrived in front of us, and I moved slightly to Aragorn's right so she could speak to his face, and not my back. "I'm to be sent with the women into the caves!" Her face was outraged and indignant.

Aragorn looked at her blankly. "That is an honorable charge." _Uh oh_, I thought, unsure whether or not Estel heard me in his own mind. _Wrong thing to say, Estel._ Éowyn stared at him incredulously, and then shot me a look that clearly said, 'Can you believe him?!' I shrugged helplessly.

"To mind the children; to find food and bedding when the men return? What renown is there in that?!" She argued back, obviously furious.

"My lady," Aragorn countered gently. "A time may come for valor without renown. Who then will your people look to in the last defense?"

Éowyn completely ignored the man's argument (I felt some smugness at that: Estel getting a taste of his own medicine). "Let me stand by your side." Éowyn pleaded without a hint of weakness in her voice or posture.

Aragorn looked at her a moment longer. "It is not in my power to command it." Then, he simply turned around and started walking back up the stairs: leaving two stunned women and one dwarf in his wake. I sighed, and after turning to Éowyn and clapping her shoulder in comfort, making to follow my best friend.

"You do not command Ellacári to stay!" Éowyn shouted desperately, quickly bringing back Aragorn's attention, my attention, and everybody else's attention. "She fights beside you, just like all of these men, because she would not be parted from you!" She stared into Aragorn's eyes, and said words that made all of us realize this conversation was no longer about Aragorn and I. "Because she loves you."

I could feel the soldier's eyes burning holes into our backs. Éowyn seemed to realize a split second too late what she had said, and to whom. Her eyes widened in horror. She looked back and forth between Aragorn and me, before saying to both of us. "I'm sorry."

She then fled, running quickly away behind us, skirts flying behind her. I sighed. _Oh Valar…she's in love with him…_ I thought sadly. Then a horrifying thought occurred to me. _Does she think that Aragorn and I are lovers? To a human, our closeness might seem beyond a simple friendship…they do not know about elen-véruir_** | star-mates |**_…_I actually groaned aloud, suddenly wishing that the battle would actually begin soon: blood and gore, however sickening, made sense…unlike love.

I turned around to face Estel, my eyes narrowing. "Now you listen here, adan **| man |**," I said in a determined voice. "I am going to take you into a room, and see to your injuries. And while we are walking there, you will _not_ complain, and I will give you one very important warning: one that you should definitely take to heart. Do you understand me, Heir of Isildur?" My face was entirely serious. Aragorn nodded slowly and cautiously, reminding me of myself whenever my father called me into his study. I strode forward, latching onto his arm and dragging him towards the caves: leaving Gimli to help with the preparations.

"What is your warning?" Estel asked calmly. I spun around, meeting his eyes with an intense gaze. "If you hurt them – _either_ of them, and you know whom I speak of – I swear, Aragorn…I will…no, I don't even know what I'll do."

* * *

I forcibly dragged Aragorn through the stone halls of Helms Deep for another minute: until I reluctantly realized that he was not, in fact, protesting; and probably was not going to be trying to escape anytime soon. _I wonder if I unnerved him a little _too_ much_, I thought worriedly, my mother's soft-heartedness shining through. But then my father's stubbornness took over again. _Well, I'll be damned if I apologize: I meant what I said._

"Ellacári," Estel muttered as if having read my mind, slowly unlatching my fingers from his arm. "I am following you willingly, mellon-nîn…you do not need to keep pulling me along like this…"

I sighed, a tiny shred of guilt fluttering through my heart. "Goheno nîn, Estel** | Forgive me |**…I just—" Aragorn shook his head, before muttering softly so only I could hear, "Please, do not apologize, El…you are right to treat me thus for what I am doing to your friends…"

I was going to reply, but we had finally made it to the caves; so instead of responding, I nudged Aragorn inside the stone hall. The quarters I had used before Aragorn had returned were only a few doors within the entrance to the large stone hall, and despite the name of the underground refuge, I found the place quite cozy and comfortable (although I would rather _die_ than admit that to Gimli). But I did not know if the room had been taken by someone else in my absence: I had told Éowyn, as head of the Rohirrim women and children, that the room was open for use, after all. I scanned the crowd of women, children, and the elderly: looking for a familiar face. It finally fell upon the boy I had been talking to when I got word of Aragorn's return: Niulm. _Oh good_, I thought. _I was hoping to see him one last time before nightfall._

Niulm was struggling to put on a piece of armor for the battle, and I felt a brief twinge of worry as I realized that the young boy – not even a man yet – would be fighting in this confrontation. _This poor child…_

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at me, cocking his head at Niulm with curiosity. I smiled reassuringly, placating him, before turning to the Rohirrim boy. "Niulm," I said with a kind look, trying to be as non-threatening as possible.

Niulm jumped out of his seat, the armor clamoring around him and his face beet red. "Um, I—Lady Ellacári! I—um, I was—why are you…?" I chuckled, and he immediately stifled his ranting, his face turning even redder. "'Tis alright, young one," I said with a smile. "But please, can you tell me and my friend here if the quarters I used a few hours previous are still available? My companion is injured, and I must tend to his wounds." Niulm stuttered for a second, his eyes falling upon Aragorn and nearly bulging out of his skull.

"Lor-lord Aragorn! I-I mean Elessar…no, um, I—" Aragorn, instead of playing with the bewildered child's mind, simply chuckled, holding out a pacifying hand. "It is okay, young one. But please, is the room occupied?" I shot a sharp glance at my friend: he must be more weary than I had first believed.

Niulm nodded, turning back to face me. "I believe your room is empty, Lady Ellacári. Most of us have been busy gathering supplies or preparing for the battle, so nobody has had time to make use of your quarters. You may use that room if you wish…" I smiled kindly at the boy, clapping his shoulders lightly in a warrior's gesture. "Thank you, Niulm." I turned to lead Aragorn again, but a feeling of slight grief swept over me. I spun back to the boy and whispered, almost as an afterthought, "Be safe."

Niulm blushed slightly at my close proximity to his person, and I clapped him on the shoulder again before latching onto Estel's arm and leading him towards the room.

When I arrived, I slowly closed the door for discreetness, and when I spotted a small pitcher of water, motioned for Aragorn to sit on the bed. "Lie down, Estel. Oh, and take off your shirt, if you will." Aragorn rolled his eyes, but sat down behind me anyway.

I lifted the pitcher off of the ground, testing the water temperature. It was rather cold…but it _was_ going to be Estel being washed with it. _Maybe a douse of cold water will do him good._ I thought dryly.

When I turned back around, pitcher and an extra cloth I had found beside it in hand, Aragorn was lying on his back on the straw mattress…with shirt still stubbornly on. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Aragorn…" I growled, crossing my arms and leveling a patented Thranduil Death Glare at him. Aragorn sighed. "Really, Ellacári, I'm not hurt. I have to continue with the prepar—"

"Do not give me that 'I'm not hurt' nonsense, son of Arathorn!" I growled. "What part of '_You fell off of a cliff_' don't you understand?" Aragorn looked like he was actually going to answer the question, but I interrupted him with a more intense glare. His mouth snapped shut.

I strode over to the bedside, sitting on the edge and examining the man's person. His ranger's cloak was ripped, torn, and completely soaked with river water in some places. _This coat has survived through Moria, through Fangorn…through even Caradhras! Isn't it time he got a new one?_

This time, Aragorn growled threateningly in the back of his throat. "Don't even _think_ about it, Ellacári." He pulled the cloak closer around him as a testament of his seriousness. I rolled my eyes. "Fine," I grumbled good-naturedly. "Keep your coat. But it won't be my fault if you catch pneumonia…"

I gently removed his ranger's cloak from his shoulders, and then his shirt from under it. I unhooked his sword and daggers from his belt, leaving only a pair of trousers. There were many minor scrapes and cuts, but I was more worried about possible internal injuries. I slowly began poking and prodding the man's chest and arms, watching his face for some sort of bad reaction. Estel's eyes were raised to the stone ceiling, and I examined him in silence for a while, before the man started chuckling lightly. I looked up at him. "What?"

Estel chuckled again. "It's just that whenever I have a woman examining me like _this_," he shot a dry grin at me. "It is usually Arwen." I gaped at the man for a second, before smacking him over the head in a familiar reaction. "Have you no shame?" I muttered at his mischievous grin.

But even in my embarrassment, I did not miss the slight wince that Aragorn tried to cover up after I hit him over the back of his head. _Aha! I found the injury!_

I quickly moved away from his chest and stomach to comb through the greasy, dirty black hair. If the battle wasn't so soon, I would have taken the time to wash it; but that would have to wait until after the fight.

My fingertips brushed across a particularly red spot on his scalp, and this time, Estel outright flinched, his head jerking slightly before he took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. "'_Not injured_'my arse," I muttered, just loud enough so that he could hear.

Aragorn glared up at me, before sighing and allowing me to tend to the head wound further. I wet the cloth, draining it of excess water before pressing it down upon the cut. Aragorn flinched immediately, but slowly his face relaxed in relief. I dug within one of my pockets for some bandages and balm to ward of infection (I had learned very early in life that it was important to carry these items with you at all times).

As I unraveled the bandages and applied the ointment, I struck up a (hopefully nonchalant) conversation with my friend again. "It's a miracle that you survived at all, Estel: let alone with only these injuries." Estel didn't reply; just closed his eyes with an emotion I couldn't define. Regret? Sorrow? Fear?

"You could've been killed, Aragorn. Logically, you _should've_ been killed…that fall would've destroyed any other mortal. Don't you—"

"Are you going to lecture me about personal safety, Ellacári?" Aragorn said in a surprisingly hostile voice. "Because if you are, I'd rather not hear it right now."

I stopped my ministrations on his head abruptly, my hands unconsciously tightening around black locks of his hair. He inhaled sharply when my grip became too intense, and I exhaled slowly, releasing my pent up anger and energy before I could seriously hurt him. We stayed that way for around ten seconds: Estel's eyes boring into my own, and my head bowed into his hair as I knelt beside the mattress.

"Elessar," I whispered. His body stiffened noticeably. "You know the story of your forefather, Isildur's death." The man hesitated, before nodding slowly. I told him the tale anyway. "After Isildur refused to destroy the Ring, he became king of Gondor for a very brief period of 2 years. And although I realized even then that his judgment was being continuously corrupted by the Ring…I wish now that the time I had with him could've been cherished more."

I swallowed, intent on telling Aragorn every detail of what I had suffered because of my love for his predecessors. "In the Year 2 of the Third Age…Isildur and his troops were marching through a particularly dangerous forest west of the Anduin. It was the one time where I had not insisted on accompanying him on a journey like this…and it was only because we had had an argument in Minas Tirith three days before," I laughed sadly, beginning to secure the bandages to his head just for something to do with my hands. "To tell you the truth, I don't even remember what we argued about: or maybe I just do not care…it doesn't even matter now."

I sighed, my mind bringing me back more than two and a half thousand years ago…to that mind-numbing panic when I came upon the Gladden Fields. "After five days without any word about anything, the Steward at the time began to worry greatly about his king…so he sent me and a contingent of Gondorian warriors to follow Isildur's path and see if he had made it to Edoras safely."

I finished dressing Aragorn's wound, and so stood up from my kneeling position on the floor, and disposed of the soiled cloths and pitcher. "We came upon him only a day into our journey. His whole party had been slaughtered mercilessly by orcs of Mordor: drawn to him through the power of the Ring." I rung out the cloth and tossed it into the pitcher, setting aside the two objects before returning to the bed. "I remember vividly breaking off from the rest of our group and tearing through the trees like a madwoman. I searched for Isildur's face amidst the dead men…and after a few minutes of this, I began to believe that perhaps Isildur had escaped the massacre, fleeing to the other side of the river."

I sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of my nose and leaning my head against the mattress. "He did escape…but not with his life. It was I who first found your forefather – the Last King of Gondor – floating down the Anduin. Dead, with four arrows in his back and blood leaving a trail of red behind him."

Aragorn looked at me with slightly widened eyes: we both knew that I had never told him this story before, mostly because I had not wanted to scare him with the details of his forbearer's gruesome death. But the Heir to Gondor needed to understand…needed to know why I protected him so fiercely.

"I waded into the cold water, and I remember the first thing I checked was his pulse. I couldn't think of any possible way that he could be alive…but I couldn't stop myself from hoping. Of course, those hopes were immediately crushed when I saw that he was drained of almost all his blood, and his heart was not beating."

I clenched my eyes shut. "I remember beginning to sob, my legs so weak that the rushing river nearly swept the both of us away. I dragged the man through the rapids and back onto the riverbank…" I opened my eyes to lock them upon Aragorn's own intense gaze. "And I remember thinking, almost frozen in shock, that it couldn't possibly end like this…not after everything we had both went through. I could not believe that Isildur had fallen in a surprise raid during his travels: after he had survived through the Last Alliance…after he had cut the Ring from Sauron's finger, the very Ring that eventually betrayed him, and to his death." I chuckled grimly. "Ironic, isn't it?"

Aragorn had long since closed his eyes, staring unseeing up at the stone ceiling: and I believed for a second that he had fallen asleep. But just as I began to rise from my seat, the man spoke. "Why did you tell me this?"

"Because I do not want for you to share his fate!" I shouted angrily, shooting up from the floor to stand over the ranger. "Because I won't be able to stand it if you end up like Isildur!"

"I'm not going to die in this battle, Ellacári, if that's what you're worried ab—" "That's what you said before your little tumble off the cliff!" I shouted again, my hands curling into trembling fists amidst my turbulent emotions. "You told me that everything was going to be fine…and then what happened?! You _fell off of a cliff_, and left us all alone. Left ME alone!" After my little outburst had stopped, my eyes widened and my face heated up at my slip.

Aragorn sighed softly in sudden understanding – as if I was some experiment that needed to be analyzed and examined – and smiled gently at me. "Ellacári…I—" "No, Aragorn," I whispered. "Nothing you say will make it alright. Nothing you say will make those 23 hours when I thought you were dead any better. Nothing will change that those hours were some of the worse ones of my life."

We stared at each other for a few more tense seconds, before Aragorn slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. He placed a hand on his barely noticeable bandages, closing his eyes to fight off a brief wave of vertigo, and then, with eyes open, he strode over to me and pulled me into his arms.

"Estel…"I muttered, gripping him back tightly. "This fight is hopeless…there is no way that the Rohirrim can do this alone. We simply do not have the—" "Saes, Ellacári…dain, saes…" **| Please, Ellacári…silence, please… |**

I sighed in sad resignation. I would not continue this argument now…mayhap later, when the situation truly became as hopeless as I knew it would eventually. But now…now I would relish the feeling of being in my best friend's arms: because after nightfall, I might never experience it again.

* * *

Translations –

**Daro – Stop**

**Elen-véruir – Star-mates (plural)**

**Adan – Man (singular)**

**Goheno nîn – Forgive me**

**Saes, Ellacári…dain, saes… – Please, Ellacári…silence, please…**

* * *

**Word-Count: 4,541**

**Alright, not much to say here at the end. Just another apology for not updating sooner…it's gonna be even harder to update now, 'cause it's getting towards the end of the school year (regents, state tests, exit projects, graduation, prom…etc etc). But I'll try my best: I promise! (and if worse comes to worse, than you can be sure that I will definitely start update when summer comes around – but I hope that it won't come to that!)**

**Naamarie!**

**~CC. **


	25. Despair, and You Shall Find Comfort

**Disclaimer: Alright, I have officially run out of creative things to say in these things. For the 25****th**** time, no recognizable characters, settings, or events belong to me…they are all the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and his estate, Peter Jackson, and/or New Line Cinema.**

**Thank you so much to anyone who reviewed! =D They all really made me smile =] Besides that, there is not much to say (well, besides the always-present apology of why I haven't updated in so freaking long…damn, has it really been this long?!), I'll just reply to 2 anonymous reviews, and then we'll be on our way!**

**"Alli" – Lol, thanks =] believe me, I'm looking forward to the battle scene too xD hee hee…**

"**Dillila" – Thanks :) no worries: the elves will be arriving soon! And thank you for posting red's draft…*sniffle* Very, very sweet :'( And I promise to update soon :)**

**Alright everybody, here's the next chappy!**

Chapter 25 – Despair, and You Shall Find Comfort

* * *

"…**I do not like this place, and I shall like it no more by the light of day. But you comfort me, Gimli, and I am glad to have you standing night with your stout legs and your hard axe…I wish there were more of our kin among us…we shall need them…there are too few here, too few…"**

**~ Legolas, "Helm's Deep"**

* * *

I was choking.

Not in the physical, blocked-throat sense…but within my mind, my heart, my soul…yes, I was choking. And not only that, but it was slowly killing me.

None of them could understand. They were not Elves, no matter how many years Estel spent in their company, he did not have the sensitivity to these things as my kind did.

No…Estel could probably _see_ the fear in this stronghold…but I could actually _smell_ it.

I could taste it in the air…

Feel it stinging and burning my skin…

Feel it freezing my head in an everlasting headache.

The fear these mortals were feeling…it went beyond even the mere definition of _fear_.

It was terror. Absolute, pure, trembling terror…and it was palpable.

At least, to me it was.

Estel and I had left the small room in the caves after I had treated and healed his wounds, just a few hours before nightfall. After meeting up with Gimli, we had quickly busied ourselves with preparations for the upcoming battle, aiding the Rohirrim anyway we could.

But the semi-good mood I had been in after leaving the quarters (and Estel's comforting embrace), had quickly disappeared as the hours progressed, and nightfall drew closer.

Because it didn't matter how much we reinforced, or helped, or comforted…all of us knew that by the end of this night, most of these humans, if not all of them, would be dead.

Every single one of them that passed me, every one that brushed past my arm, every one I _touched_…was like lightening jolting through my body. Their skin, their _eyes_ were thick with it…so thick you could cut it with a knife.

I swallowed deeply, a small bead of sweat breaking out on my forehead. I longed to be out of this room, out of this castle built with raw stone. I couldn't breathe in here…it was so damn stifling!

My eyes bore into every young and old man, every small boy who went and armed themselves with shields that more often than not weighed more than their own selves. It sickened me, knowing that these poor boys (for even the oldest were still children in my eyes) had been drafted with no warning and no choice, to fight in a surely hopeless battle.

_They are all going to die…_we_ are all going to die…but for what, Ellacári? For the protection of the free world…for the fight against Sauron…?_

…_for Frodo?_

…_for Aragorn?_

…for my father?

…_for Elrohir?_

I closed my eyes, biting my lip so hard I almost drew blood. I would probably never see the last two again…and that mere thought was enough to make hot tears form behind my eyelids. I breathed in and out, deeply, gaining control over my emotions again. My other two companions were not so successful: Aragorn's heavy, worried breathing – as well as Gimli's fidgeting – reached my sensitive ears, and I reluctantly opened my eyes.

"Farmers, farriers, stable boys…" Aragorn said, ignoring the pitiful looks the villagers shot him and speaking to Gimli and me, "These are no soldiers."

_Don't you think we know that already, Aragorn? You don't have to go and shove that little fact down our throats._

I winced at the angry tone of my inner voice…the fear of in this tight room was getting to my head: I needed to get myself under control before I did something I would really regret.

"Most have seen too many winters!" Gimli said, and I nodded, my head immediately spinning with vertigo for a moment, before clearing. "Or too few." I continued, gazing at a few boys – only thirteen, by the look of them – with such pain and sorrow…

"Look at them," I hissed at Aragorn, my body aching with the combined fear of all these poor beings. "They're terrified!" I nearly shouted, before quieting, and finishing, "I can see it in their eyes."

By this time, all the villagers had become eerily silent, watching the two of us with strange, angry expressions. Aragorn glanced around at them, widening his eyes at me with an unspoken warning.

I growled: at this point, I had gone so beyond caring, so deep into despair and anger, that nothing really mattered anymore, least of all these mortals' opinions of me.

"Boe a hyn…neled herain, dan caer menig?!" **| And they should be…three hundred, against ten thousand?! |** I snapped harshly, eyes burning into Aragorn's own, stormy grey ones. The mortals now were experiencing a strange mixture of confusion, anger, fear, and distrust.

_And again with the Rohirrim's hate of elves…they still fear me, even after I have promised to _die_ for them. This is how they repay my sacrifice? _Our_ sacrifice?!_

Aragorn closed his eyes briefly, before replying to me in Sindarin. "Si beriathar hyn ammaeg na ned Edoras." **| They have a better chance defending themselves here than in Edroas |**

I laughed harshly, no humor in my voice. "Aragorn, nedin dagor hen ú-'erir ortheri." **| Aragorn, they cannot win this fight |** I clenched my teeth, my hands balled into fists so tight that they were trembling. "Natha daged dhaer!" **| They are all going to die! |**

Aragorn actually snarled in the back of his throat, before striding across the short space that separated us, and grabbing me roughly by the front of my tunic. "Then I shall die as one of them!" He shouted, staring into my eyes with fierce, reckless abandon.

My eyes widened, and suddenly, my mind seemed to focus in sudden clarity. _Oh Valar…what have I done? What did I say? How could—_

Aragorn swallowed deeply, but now the emotion in his eyes was not anger…but deep hurt and fear. I bit my lip, raising a trembling hand to place on his cheek…before he abruptly released me, and fled into the crowd.

I gasped, clutching my collar where he had grabbed me and loosening it. Aware that I could've just lost my best friend to despair – all because of my weakness – I quickly gathered my wits, and prepared to dart into the now stunned crowd after him.

But before I could start running, a rough hand grasped the belt at the back of my tunic and pulled me back with surprising strength. I turned around, ready to curse at the person who _dared_ to restrain me, but my apparently violent mouth snapped shut when I saw Gimli's sad, understanding eyes staring up at me.

"Let him go, lass," he said, releasing my belt when he was certain I wasn't going to run. "Let him be."

I stared down at the dwarf for another second, before sighing in resignation, and nodding. I slumped down against the wall, and we sat in silence, continuing to watch the (now silent) Rohirrim, preparing for a battle of which there was almost no hope of winning.

* * *

Minutes ticked by slowly in that period of time after Aragorn stormed away, and before the battle. Mostly, I stayed away from large groups of fearful humans: their emotions were so powerful that I could not bear to stay in the vicinity any longer.

Gimli had long since disappeared into the depths of the vast, stone structure of Helm's Deep. I was too nervous about drowning again in that terror and dread; so I simply stayed at the top battlements, near the mountainside. The wind was cold, soothing, rushing past my face. It would be an icy night…and I could smell rain in the air.

_Oh, even better!_ I grumbled inwardly from my perch on the narrow stone. _Not only do we have to fight against an army of ten thousand, but we must also fight them in the rain. At least we know it couldn't get any worse._

I winced unintentionally. _No, it's probably best not to say that. It could _always_ be worse._

"Oi! Oi, get down from there! Are you insane?! You are going—" I peered down from the miniscule spire I was currently balancing on (it was only wide enough for one of my feet, but that was not really a problem for me), easily keeping stable as I leant forward slightly. Two Rohirrim soldiers were currently shouting desperately for me to come down, to carefully climb from the small platform to the ground.

I chuckled dryly at their panicked expressions, before leaning back without another care, and humming softly as my mind wandered over the situation. Their endless, frantic droning was eventually tuned out, with some effort on my part.

My people have always been considered an immensely private race: keeping to ourselves for centuries and centuries before finally interacting with the Second-Born, and those who were born from stone, Aulë's Children. For we are those who were here in the beginning. The Firstborn.

Mayhap that is why I sought solitude at this time…in this last hour.

_Stop being so hopeless, Ellacári. Look where that got you with Estel…he's disappeared, and you couldn't find him, no matter how hard you tried. Hopelessness isn't going to get you anywhere but deeper into the nothingness._

I nodded in reassurance to myself, continuing to hum softly in the darkness, completely ignoring the two guard's panicked pleas for the fulfillment of their demands. I realized that the song I had subconsciously chosen was an old, mournful melody that my mother used to sing to me, back when I was just a babe of a dozen years.

The words had long since faded into distant histories and memory – I did not understand them then, and couldn't understand them now, either – but the tune itself spoke the powerful ballad clearly enough, if one listened closely.

It spoke of goodbyes…and of regret. It sang of power: of gaining it, and losing it. It murmured a tale of love, and of loss. Told of epic battles with bittersweet endings…and memories that never should have been forgotten.

_This night…we fight for our lives,_ A voice in the back of my mind spoke without hesitation. _But not only for our lives…but for our freedom. For our right to love…to feel…to speak out, and to shout and to scream to the Dark Lord in his Tower that we will not leave this Middle-Earth without a fight…_

"These people are fighting for more than just survival…" I whispered, something dawning on me for the first time since Aragorn had stormed out of that room a few hours ago. "They're fighting for Mankind…they're fighting for themselves, for their loved ones, and for people leagues and leagues away whom they will never meet."

A smile graced my lips. I knew this motivation well…but I had forgotten that mortals were capable of understanding it as well. _I suppose I finally understand why Aragorn will fight tonight…_

…_and also…why _I_will fight tonight._

* * *

"PLEASE, by order of the King, come down from there!" One of the guards shouted, worried exasperation clouding his voice. As a result, I was abruptly snapped out of the 'trance' I had fallen into on that pinnacle. I sighed, coming to the conclusion that this would be the end of the peace I would receive tonight; and so, I decided to humor the guards – if only because of my recent revelations about their people.

I leapt down from the tall spire, and fell around thirty feet down to the narrow ledge of stone the two Rohirrim men were currently standing on. I heard them gasp in horror, and they both closed their eyes tightly as they imagined me falling to my death with a sickening crack.

After a few seconds of me standing there, arms crossed in irritation, they opened their eyes cautiously. And the moment their brains registered that 1) I was still alive, and 2) I was their king's elvish friend, two jaws dropped open. I was tempted to say something along the lines of, 'Do not just stand there looking like two limp fish,' but somehow managed to restrain myself.

"My-my lady!" The one on the right stuttered, both of them backing into a more relaxed stance, obviously embarrassed with their harsh words. I smiled wanly. "Hello, maethori-o Rohan **| warriors of Rohan |**…forgive me if I have caused an inconvenience. I simply wanted a few minutes of solitude before nightfall."

The man on the left shook his head, attempting to make the action seem calm. "Oh, no, milady! It was no inconvenience. We were worried that you would fall, that is all." I smiled tiredly again. "Thank you, penneth, for your concern…I had finished my thinking, anyway…"

Moving forward with an inward sigh, I rested my hand on the short wall, looking out across the plains of Rohan that would soon be flooded with orcs.

"Milady…if it is not too out of line…may I ask you a question?" I turned around to meet the hesitant gaze of one of the guards, and nodded to indicate that he may indeed ask.

"Some of the superstitious men…they claim that you have seen our doom. They," he hesitated slightly, "they tell us that you are a witch, who sees our demise and seeks to escape it. Have you seen – I mean, uh, do you indeed know our fate?"

I chuckled softly, with only a hint of sorrow. "I knew that your people were suspicious of me, but I had no idea that it ran this deep…" I spun around, one eyebrow arching delicately, and abruptly changed the subject. "Do _you_ trust me, gentlemen?"

The one on the right who had originally asked the question nodded his head furiously. "Yes! Yes, of course we do, milady." I spared a glance at the other guard, who looked cautiously back at me. "My King trusts you; so I suppose I do as well."

I chuckled good-naturedly (obviously surprising the guards, who I guess were expecting some sort of outburst from me at the man's comment). "That is a good answer, penneth…they are both good answers." I stopped for a brief moment, before continuing. "Let me say this to you,"

"I may _not_ know as much of the future as some of your comrades may think I do; but I also may know _more_ about it than some others believe. That being said, I will tell you only what I believe to be true, in my heart of hearts: with foresight, or without."

I leaned closer to them, smiling slightly, before murmuring, "In the end…the shadow is only a small and passing thing: because there is light, and high beauty forever beyond it's reach." I placed a slender, pale hand onto the one of the soldier's foreheads.

"And it can be found here…in the minds," I caressed his forehead gently.

"…in the words," I rubbed my thumb over the rough lips of the man.

"…and in the hearts…" I finally placed my hand over his heart.

"…of Free Men…of those who rebel against the Dark and the Evil." I smiled kindly at the both of them, before breaking the gaze, and clapping them on the shoulder gently. "Do not forget that the most stubborn and righteous of hopes always begin in the dark…when all seems lost, and the night seems overwhelming…there always rings that hope that if you just be brave, and do the right thing, the dawn will come…"

"…Well, the dawn _will_ indeed come, gentlemen," I smiled one last time at the two of them, before turning back to the depths of the stone city to search for my best friend.

_And it always will._

* * *

Translations –

**Boe a hyn…neled herain, dan caer menig?! – And they should be…three hundred, against ten thousand?!**

**Si beriathar hyn ammaeg na ned Edoras – They have a better chance defending themselves here than in Edoras**

**Aragorn, nedin dagor hen ú-'erir ortheri – Aragorn, they cannot wind this fight**

**Natha daged dhaer! – They are all going to die!**

**Maethori-o Rohan – Warriors of Rohan**

* * *

**Word-Count: 2,578**

**Ugh, I am SO sorry that this took me so long. I had already written like, all of this chapter about a fortnight ago (…did I really just use the word 'fortnight' in its correct context? …That is a scary thought); but real life just sort of overwhelmed me right when I was about to post it.**

**But thank the Lord…summer has come! My finals/regents/exit projects are over, my graduation has happened, and I have danced at my prom until my feet ached…and it is all over! Alleluia! Now, all I need to do is go into school for 2 more days for report card and yearbook…and it's all over! *lets out a heavy sight of relief* Again, I say: Alleluia!**

**Fewf, now that **_**that's**_** done with, I can move on. I promise I will be updating much faster now that school's over, and it's summer. And remember, no matter how long it is between a posting, I will **_**not**_** be giving up on this story! Promise! xD I really do enjoy writing this!**

**Alright, as another note, the song that I mentioned at the end of this chapter (aka. The one she's humming), is the one that I have listened to while writing this entire chappy…it's called "Goodbye" by Alan Silvestri…it's only an instrumental song (no lyrics), and it's actually from the soundtrack of the Battle of the Smithsonian (Night at the Museum 2). I'd forgotten how good that movie was…**

**But anyway, here's the link. I don't know if it'll show up when I actually post this (you know how fickle is about that sort of thing), but I'll try my best. Just remove all the spaces. I really suggest you check it out: it's a very beautiful song!**

** youtube watch?v=VD ac7svLDt4**

**Alright, I guess that's about it. Until next time!**

**Naamarie!**

**~CC. **


	26. Reunion under the Shadow

**Disclaimer: *sigh* Unfortunately, I still do not own Lord of the Rings…(despite my increasing efforts of pleading to Peter Jackson and Christopher Tolkien). Oh well…**

**Again, thank you to everybody who either reviewed, favorited, or story-alerted this tale! I really appreciate it (your actions really make me so happy! =D )!**

**Alright, this is officially the chapter everybody has been waiting for…the big reunion! =D I bet you're all very psyched (hey, **_**I**_** am psyched for this chapter!): I just hope that I can live up to your expectations! :)**

Chapter 26 – Reunion under the Shadow

* * *

"**But even more would I give for a hundred good archers of Mirkwood. We shall need them…although the Rohirrim have good bowmen after their fashion…there are too few here, too few."**

**~ Legolas, "Helm's Deep"**

* * *

I scoured the stone battlements for either of my friends: but Gimli and Aragorn were nowhere to be found on the outer ledges. I looked out on the plains briefly, and upon the sun, slowly sinking beneath the horizon. It would be nightfall soon.

_They must be in the Caves, getting ready for the battle._

Looking down upon my tattered, green elvish uniform: clothing, which – while they were very strong to survive mountains, rivers, and plains – I somehow doubted would protect me in a battle like this. Finding some armor for myself might not be such a bad idea.

I asked a passing soldier where the armory was, and then headed off into the depths of the stone castle to find it, and hopefully both my friends within it. _I wonder if the Rohirrim will even have armor for women…_I sighed inwardly. _Probably not. Damn. I didn't think of that. Maybe I can ask Èowyn, if I can find her before the orcs arrive… _

I turned a sharp corner, walked down a short corridor, and suddenly found myself in a small room. And there, in the center, donning some very impressive, bulky Rohirrim chain mail…was Aragorn.

His face was carefully masked: stoic, impassive, and determined as he snapped his belt and scabbard into place. But I knew my best friend much better than that. There was a small glitter of fear and apprehension in his stormy silver eyes. It wasn't that dominant…but it was there, nonetheless.

_Oh, my dear Estel…_

The man still hadn't noticed me: his back was facing me, and I hadn't made a single noise to alert my presence yet. Beside me, only a foot away, rested his sword. I gently picked it up, holding it tenderly in my hands.

A second later, Estel spun around, raising an eyebrow when he registered who he was now facing. I held out the weapon, my eyes apologetic. _Aragorn_, I whispered inwardly, unsure of whether or not he had heard me.

He nodded, his own eyes unintentionally softening as well. My best friend took the sword with the same tenderness as I had. My lips quirked.

"We have trusted you this far, and you have not led us astray," I murmured, continuing to look into his eyes and trying to show my sincere regret. "Forgive me. I was wrong to despair."

Aragorn's eyes immediately brightened in hope and happiness, and a beaming grin broke out across his features, making me smile myself.

He pulled me into his arms, surrounding me in warmth and forgiveness. "Ú-moe edamed, Ellacári." **| There is nothing to forgive, Ellacári |** He murmured, grinning happily into my hair.

We reluctantly pulled back, continuing to grin at each other; the previously hopeless and solemn mood forgotten momentarily.

There was a sudden clang, and a few muttered Dwarvish curses behind us. Gimli entered the room through the back door, carrying what appeared to be a pile of bunched up chain mail.

He let it drop, and suddenly, the pile was revealed to be an actual coat that he wore, which extended too far past his legs. Aragorn and I each let out a snort: and then tried desperately to cover them up.

The dwarf coughed uncomfortably, trying to pull up the mail. "It's a little tight across the chest."

I pursed my lips, glancing at Estel and grinning mischievously at Gimli. I was just going to retort about dwarves' and their miniscule stature, when a loud, clear horn blasted throughout Helm's Deep.

I saw Aragorn and Gimli stiffen, but I recognized it as something other than an orc instrument declaring war.

I gasped, a small grin creeping onto my face. "That is no orc horn!" Spinning around quickly, I leapt up the stairs from where I had originally come: Aragorn and Gimli close on my heels.

_Is it possible?_ I thought excitedly. _Are they really here?_

I heard a loud bellow from one of the Rohirrim. "Open the gates!"

The three of us came to an abrupt halt in the main hall of Helm's Deep, right behind an astonished King Théoden; and there, walking through the gates with a sharp precision and grace I immediately recognized…were hundreds of my brethren. And there, standing right in front of the King of Rohan – staring straight at me with a grin – was Haldir.

The elves had come.

* * *

In a flash, the dream that Galadriel had sent me before Aragorn's return to Helm's Deep came crashing back to me. She had shown me my cousin, hadn't she…arming himself, preparing for war. It all made sense now: Elrond and Galadriel had gathered this army of the last of the Firstborn…to aid in our previously hopeless endeavor.

_If I ever see either of those two again, regardless of decorum, _I thought, almost numb with relief, _I am going to hug them until they can no longer breathe!_

Aragorn and Gimli had abruptly stopped on either side of me, identical wide-eyed, relieved expressions on all of our faces. King Théoden, staring at my cousin (whose expression was almost smug) in pure disbelief, was standing, frozen, a few steps in front of us. "How is this possible?" He asked incredulously, trying vainly not to stutter in his shock.

Haldir grinned, bowing slightly to the King and reciting an obviously memorized message from his superiors. "I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell, and Galadriel of Lothlórien." The marching elves behind him suddenly stopped in perfect sync, their faces blank. Haldir continued with his message. "An alliance once existed between Elves and Men. Long ago, we fought and died together."

He met both Aragorn's eyes, and mine – even glancing at Gimli with barely concealed delight – smiling widely. "We come to honor that allegiance."

Aragorn jolted out of his stupor before me or Gimli did, dashing down the steps and almost tripping in his haste to greet Haldir. "Mae govannan, Haldir!" **| Well met, Haldir! |** He said, racing down the stairs only to come to a sudden stop before the elf.

Before Haldir could get another word in, Aragorn pulled my stunned relative into a crushing hug, their armor clanging together. Haldir – a little bewildered and flustered at the greeting that was so vastly different from the last one he had gotten from the man – froze for a second, before relaxing with a smile, and hugging back. "You are most welcome," Aragorn said with a grin when he pulled back.

A joyous smile broke out upon my face, and I bounded down the steps as Estel had to launch myself at Haldir.

"Haldir…cousin," I cried with elation. "Guren glassui!" **| Thank you with all my heart! |** At my voice, and Haldir's identical joy, the battalion of elves turned together in synchronization, lowering their bows, shields, and swords in perfect unison.

Haldir pulled back, smiling at me and saying in a low tone, "Glassen, selen **| My pleasure, cousin |**. But it was not all my doing…" He grinned mischievously. "Telin gar o Imladris, Ellacári **| I have come from Rivendell, Ellacári |**…and they would not be dissuaded. Not that I actually tried…"

My eyes unintentionally widened in surprise, searching his face for any answer as to what he was talking about. And then, it hit me. _'They would not be dissuaded' he said…of course. Who else could he be speaking of?_

There were identical chuckles from somewhere in the seemingly endless assembly of elves: ones I immediately recognized (my reaction being an instant quickening of my heart rate). I turned around to face Haldir again, and was met with a smug look from my cousin.

I considered glaring at him for his obvious merriment; but then realized that I was actually _looking forward_ to the reunion between Elrohir, Elladan and I…rather than dreading it, as I had originally expected. So all that broke out across my expression was a thankful smile, and a low chuckle.

I turned around, planting my feet firmly on the stone amidst my people – clearly stating that I was now where I felt most comfortable…in the ordered, organized ranks of elvish warfare. Haldir, standing by my right side, turned his attention back to King Théoden, Aragorn, Gimli, and the rest of the Rohirrim.

"We are proud to fight alongside Men once more."

* * *

We only had an hour, at most, before Curunîr's army arrived at the fortress: so after Théoden got over his initial shock, and greeted Haldir with relieved thanks, I immediately set my focus upon finding the twin sons of Imladris, the younger of those aforementioned elves sending instant butterflies through my stomach. I found that I was actually more nervous about seeing Elrohir again than I was about the upcoming battle. _Well that's a first,_ I thought wryly, scanning the regiment that was once again moving according to their captains' orders.

Most of the elves were Silvan – and fair-haired, like me – so it would be easier to find the ebony colored locks of Elrond's children amidst the vast group. But it was still a difficult task (I was once again stunned by the number of soldiers Elrond and Galadriel had sent us).

I waded through the crowds of men and elves, every once and a while hissing out lowly: "Elladan? Elrohir?" A few minutes passed, still with no sign of the two mischief makers. I stopped at the entrance to a long, busy stone corridor at the five minute mark, leaning against a wall and sighing, exasperated. Still scanning the crowds, I began to curse the two of them under my breath; and so, I did not notice a pair of elves stealthily sneaking up behind me.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed me around my waist, tugging backwards sharply into an abandoned shop. I opened my mouth to cry out, but another pale, smooth hand was pressed quickly over it to stifle the sound.

We tumbled into the room: and before anything else could happen, I quickly steeled my feet, and elbowed my assailant hard in the ribs. The man groaned: and that's when I saw the flash of two raven-colored heads. The one on the floor groaned out, "Valar, Cári!" While the one who had stayed out of it, chuckled. "Well, you did kind of deserve it, Dan: you snuck up on her, virtually molesting her in the process, and shoved her into an abandoned room right before a battle." An exasperated sigh. "I _tried_ to warn you that this was a bad idea, brother."

I gasped in horror. "Elladan?" I hissed, addressing the elf on the floor. Said elf stood warily, and as the low lighting of a torch caught his face, I saw that it was indeed Elladan.

I bit my lip once, before letting out an astonished bark of laughter. "You fool!" I halfheartedly admonished with a happy grin; before pulling him into a hug as I had with Haldir.

Elladan chuckled, squeezing me tightly before pulling back. "Sorry we were so late, Cári. We wanted to intercept you in Lothlórien after your letter arrived in Rivendell, but Adar **| Father** | told us you had already departed, with an unknown road ahead."

My eyes widened nervously in the dim lighting, and I shot a glance behind me at Elrohir. "My letter got there safely?" Elladan chuckled smugly. "Oh yes…and my twin has been _pouring_ over it ever since it arrived."

Both Elrohir and I blushed in embarrassment, refusing to meet each other's gaze. Elladan grinned wickedly, before waltzing over to the door and opening it. "I'll give you lovebirds some time alone. See you on the battlements. Oh, and Cári, I have an extra suit of armor for you to wear, if you want it: so be there before an hour is up!" And so, with one more suggestive wink (and him not waiting for an answer from either of us), the oldest Elrondion closed the door, and left Elrohir and I in a stunned and awkward silence.

I pursed my lips nervously, blood continuing flooding my face and cheeks: and right then and there, I decided to make the first move. "So…was your journey comfortable?"

There was a tense, much more awkward silence as we both considered the completely ridiculous question.

And then, at the exact same moment, we both burst into hysterical laughter, bell-like and smooth chuckles piercing the silence. _Thank the Valar that ice is broken_.

Our hysterics eventually died down to constant smiles on our faces; and thankfully, a much more comfortable atmosphere settled down upon us. Elrohir chuckled once. "I'm sorry, Mandúlin…this shouldn't be so uncomfortable, and yet…" "It is." I finished. Elrohir nodded. "Precisely."

There was another brief moment of contemplation, before my brow furrowed in confusion and comprehension. "Mandúlin?" Elrohir laughed nervously. "Ah, yes…well, that's the, um…_name_ that I call you…in my head. I suppose it just, ah, slipped out." I smiled lightly, to diffuse his obvious tension, and moved closer to him to lean my head tentatively on his left bicep.

"'My precious nightingale'?" I smiled at him. "I like it." Elrohir grinned happily, an action which immediately brightened my entire world. "Ai, I do as well: I believe it fits you."

I laughed. "Well, thank you. I'm flattered." Elrohir's smile widened, and he gestured to a small, raised cot in a corner: I nodded. We sat down beside each other, my head taking a place on his upper arm again.

"Well, as my brother has so subtly warned us, we indeed do not have much time before the battle. So although we might all perish in an hour…we must make this quick."

He took a deep breath, before looking me straight in the eye. "Ellacári…I meant every word that I said in that letter. I do love you. And, well, I know that you are almost double my age…you're older than my _grandfather_ for Valar's sake, but you're just…" He shook his head. "You're different. You're unique, and otherworldly…you're like a puzzle that I can never understand, yet at the same time…I know you better than I know myself. And, and…well, you're _everything_, El." The elf ran a nervous hand through his hair. "Elbereth, I don't even know where this is coming from…and I know that you probably think that this is going much too fast; I mean, we're in the middle of a war, I probably shouldn't have even—"

I finally gathered my wits enough to press a finger to his lips. "You're babbling, Elrohir." His mouth snapped shut abruptly, before a heavy sigh escaped it. "This is all wrong," he murmured with a low, shaky laugh. "This wasn't how I pictured our reunion." I chuckled good-naturedly. "I think you're doing rather well! It definitely could've been worse." Elrohir groaned – although there was a telling twinkle of amusement in the depths of his fathomless grey eyes. "Oh, please don't say that. Something spectacularly dreadful always happens after someone says that."

I outright laughed this time, running an awkward hand through my hair. "That's true. That's very true."

A sudden frenzied shout echoed throughout the corridors outside the room we occupied. It was in a language I didn't recognize – probably in the Rohirrim's own tongue – and with that one cry of pure fear and apprehension of the massacre to come, the comfortable atmosphere we had sank into shattered. The gravity of the situation suddenly came rushing back in a flood of dread.

"There's a lot of frightened people out there," I murmured, glancing towards the door. "You're right. There are also around ten thousand orcs waiting to slaughter us." I chuckled wryly. "Subtly _was_ never your strong suit, Ro." Elrohir smiled sadly, before reaching over to my lap, and gently placing my hand in his.

My heart immediately faltered, before franticly restarting. He sighed again, and then looked into my eyes sadly. "We have a battle to fight, Ellacári." I nodded solemnly. "I know. One that we might not survive." He leaned just an inch closer, making my palms itch, and my heart beat erratically.

After taking a deep and calming breath, the other elf leaned closer…inch by agonizing inch. Shadows had begun to dance across his pale face, combining with the ebony hair that I was so fascinated with to complete a startling image of some sort of mischievous, dark angel. My lips parted slightly, small puffs of visible breath escaping my mouth in the depths of the cold fortress. "Elrohir…" I whispered, so low that _I_ could barely hear myself.

"Since that is the case," he murmured lowly. "Then I should probably do this now…incase I do not have the opportunity to do so in the future…" He trailed off, cupping my cheek in his hand and meeting my eyes with such intensity that it almost made me feel self-conscious.

I opened my mouth to say something – anything – and yet, suddenly I couldn't: for my love's lips were suddenly pressed tightly against mine.

I sat frozen in shock for a moment, eyes wide in surprise, before my lids slowly slid close, and my being immediately flooded with emotion.

My first kiss with Elrohir was nothing like I had originally expected: I had been prepared for a hungry, lustful lip locking of earth-shattering proportions – and yet, this was infinitely sweeter, and much more perfect than any daydream I had ever had of this moment.

His lips were smooth and cool, not at all like I had imagined. I could feel love and care and hidden passion flaring through his body, and now warmly making their way through mine. I wanted it to last forever – for this feeling of loving and being loved to never go away.

Elrohir's hand slid slowly from my cheek to the nape of my neck, while both of my hands gripped his shoulders, as if trying to ground myself in a world that was quickly melting around us.

And then it ended: just like that. Our lips slowly, reluctantly separated, both of us moving only a few inches away from the other. The half-elf had left a curious taste of crisp rivers and cool mint in my mouth; and a breathtaking scent of sweet rain and the sky lingering in my hair.

I looked up and met his slightly darkened eyes; a gesture that he returned with a smile. While slowly removing his hand from my neck, his fingers caught a few stray strands of my golden hair. He smiled a bit brighter, bringing the lock of hair to his face and inhaling gently. "Hmm…" He rumbled contently, making my body nearly tremble with a surprising rush of desire. "You smell sweet…like roses…and warm vanilla…"

A smile flitted across my face, my cheeks warming in slight embarrassment and pleasure. I shifted closer to him on the cot, close enough to lean my head against his upper chest and neck.

Unfortunately, this beautiful sense of "afterglow-ish" peace would not last forever. As if on cue, another loud bam sounded throughout Helm's Deep: startling me, but not invoking any visible reaction from either of us. A few shouts calling for order followed the crash: calls from both men and elves.

I sighed shakily, wrapped my slightly wavering arms around Elrohir's midriff. "This is it…time's up." Elrohir sighed, tightening his grip on my body. "Yes, I'm afraid it is." I pulled back slightly, looking up into his tumultuous silver eyes. "Whatever happens, Mandúlin…know that I love you." I smiled, my lips trembling a bit. "And I you, Rochbenîn." I winked, slowly regaining my confidence and my usual, tough, brave demeanor. Elrohir chuckled sardonically, that familiar sparkle of determination and daring appearing in his eyes. "Hm…'my elf knight'…I like it." I grinned, taking a deep breath before placing a chaste kiss on the other elf's lips.

We both rose from the cot, straightening our clothes and hair. I noticed for the first time that Elrohir had already donned his armor over his traveling clothes, his sword and daggers strapped to his waist. "I should probably go find Dan to ask for that armor…" I said, in complete warrior-mode now. Elrohir nodded, reaching out and clasping my hand. "Ai, I'll come with you." He glanced out one of the few windows as the room suddenly began growing darker by the second. "The sun is setting."

We then glanced at each other, understanding in both of our eyes…before walking out of our sanctuary…and into the abyss.

* * *

Translations –

**Ú-moe edamed, Ellacári – There is nothing to forgive, Ellacári**

**Mae govannan, Haldir – Well met, Haldir**

**Guren glassui! – Thank you with all my heart (lit. Thank you from my heart)**_  
_

**Glassen, selen – My pleasure, cousin**

**Telin gar o Imladris, Ellacári – I have come from Rivendell, Ellacári**

**Adar – Father**

**Elrondion – Son of Elrond**

Mandúlin – My precious nightingale (a pet name for Ellacári)

Rochbenîn – My elf knight (a pet name for Elrohir)

* * *

**Word-Count: 3,400**

**Well, here it is. They have professed their love in person…they have kissed…and now, they go off to certain death. Hehe…I love cliffhangers!**

**Next chapter will be the big fight (which I've already started, so it should be up pretty fast)! See you then!**

**Naamarie!**

**~CC. **


	27. The Storm

**Disclaimer: *sigh*…still don't own it.**

**Alright people, I know it has been a **_**very **_**long time since I last updated…and I feel so incredibly guilty and bad about that! It's been really busy this past month and a half because of high school – so I will kinda excuse myself from that ('cause it's a LOT of work…). But I **_**really**_** should've written more before that (and believe me, I definitely could've found time. But instead, I sat around and slept and watched freaking Star Trek and anime…and just totally forgot about this…*sobs guiltily*). **

**But nevertheless, I am back now…and I come bearing the completely awesome, big fight scene! Woohoo! The moment we all have been waiting forever for (you know, maybe the extra-long wait helped build up the suspense…yep, I totally have you waiting on the edge of your seats! *shot*). Thank you again to everybody who reviewed/favorited/story-alerted the last chapter! I think we are now past 90 reviews…whoa! So close to 100…so keep those reviews going please! =D**

"**Lillia" – Do not worry, the update is here! :) And if you didn't read the whole self-hatred rant up there…I'll say it again. I feel SO guilty about not updating in sooooo long…and I know how you guys feel, 'cause I've been in that position more times than I can count, ("OH MY GOD, WHY WILL SHE NOT UPDATE?!" *sobs*). Heh, well, I don't know if you're THAT passionate about this story, but I get the gist of your worries. Don't worry, I am back from my MIA-phase, and I am here to stay! I promise!**

**Oh, and also, a slight warning – there are a few "curses" in this chapter (and rightly so: they are in a battle, after all). Even though they're in Elvish…the translations are a bit dirty (don't ask me where I found the Elvish for these…just don't ask. XD ). So, you have been forewarned.**

**Here we go: on with the chapter! (Finally!)**

Chapter 27 – The Storm

* * *

"**Come! This is the hour when we draw swords together!"**

**~ Aragorn, "Helm's Deep"**

* * *

"Mellyn-nîn: tolo, govano ven!" **| My friends: come, join us! |** Haldir shouted, command set firmly in his voice. Elladan rolled his eyes, before wading through the crowd, Ro and I in tow, to reach the front line on the battlements of Helm's Deep.

"Please, do calm down, Haldir," Dan said in the Common Tongue with an exasperated scoff as we reached the Lórien elf. "Cári was just donning her armor…trust me, we would not be late for _this_ battle in a thousand years."

We finally reached the wall: Haldir, Dan and Ro standing on my left, while Gimli (still slightly uneasy about being around so many elves) was on my right. Aragorn was currently nowhere to be seen. Haldir looked me over with a critical eye: a lightweight breastplate, along with a mithril chain mail, adorned my chest; vambraces were strapped to my arms, and my hair was pulled back into a hurried braid. The Galadhrim quiver was strapped to my back as per usual, and I held my longbow in my hands. In addition to my twin knives and daggers, an Elvish sword given to me by Elladan was at my waist. My cousin nodded, convinced of my safety: to which I rolled my eyes in exasperation. "You worry too much, selen."

Haldir glared at me halfheartedly, worry and affection softening the irritation in his gaze, and said, "Better to be safe than sorry." Elrohir nodded, and mumbled from beside him, "Here, here." Gimli grumbled something inaudible, even to my ears, while Elladan's whole form simply stiffened, his face suddenly solemn: the previous mirth and teasing gone as the minutes dragged on.

Slowly, we watched as the last remnants of sunlight – the last we would see in what would feel like forever – completely disappeared over the horizon. As night truly fell upon us (the only source of light being the torches placed throughout the fortress), every single noise gradually died down. The warriors stopped talking, swords ceased clanging, and breathing became softer and shallower.

It was the calm before the storm.

Now that most of the lighting had been extinguished, it was terrifyingly easy to spot the thousands of bulky forms and bright torches moving closer and closer towards us. The air was thick with tension and fear; and it felt as if the whole world was just _waiting_…just holding it's breath and dreading the inevitable explosion of disaster.

The orcs marched closer.

I could smell rain on the air…it would start soon, although I doubted that the humans would know that before it happened. Rain wasn't a particularly horrible turn of events: it would not really impair my ability to fight (the mortals were another story), but it would be a bit bothersome, especially if it was heavier than the light drizzle I was expecting. I sighed: were the Valar truly and wholly against us this night?

Gimli – who was not used to standing in one spot in such dead silence as elves were – was beginning to get extremely restless: and on top of that, a maddening scowl had overtaken his features. I had just made up my mind to ask what, in Elbereth's name, was the matter, when he suddenly growled loudly and angrily, breaking the tense stillness.

"You could have picked a better spot!" Abruptly, I realized exactly _why_ my dwarf friend had been so upset: the wall where we stood just barely covered his head, obstructing his view of the battlefield and the oncoming orcs. I changed my stoic facial expression for the first time in half an hour: a smug grin taking over my expression, and silent laughter bubbling up inside my chest. I quickly bit my lip to stifle it.

And still, the orcs marched closer.

Haldir and the twins were breathing evenly and calmly beside me as the ominous torches moved closer. Aragorn – who was easy to spot now, seeing as he was the only one moving – was striding through the rows of elves on the wall to reach us.

He stopped in between Gimli and me, glancing at Haldir and his brothers out of the corner of his eye. Gimli grunted, looking behind him to speak to the ranger, "Well, lad, the luck you live by, let's hope it lasts the night."

There was a loud, startling boom of thunder and flash of lightning: small drops of water were beginning to fall upon my head. I inhaled deeply, reaching back on instinct and grasping Estel's hand briefly. "Your friends are with you, Aragorn."

Elladan, Elrohir and Haldir made small noises of agreement, while Gimli grumbled out, "Let's hope _they_ last the night." Elladan chuckled rather grimly, mimicking his brother from around an hour ago. "Here, here!"

There was another crash of thunder; and an answering roar of jeering bloodlust from the orcs followed the rumble. This time, the flash of lightning almost blinded me.

Aragorn squeezed my hand just a bit tighter, before reluctantly releasing it to continue his march amidst the troops. Just as the man left, however, another explosion of thunder and lightning – this one louder than all the others – shook the sky, and with it…came rain.

Lots and _lots_ of rain. Not the soft, refreshing drizzle I had been expecting. Oh no. This was a downpour of epic proportions that I had only seen in Rivendell, the virtual storm capitol of Middle-Earth.

This rain was cold…and wet…and, after a few minutes, even made _me_ feel miserable. It was so heavy that within seconds, not a single part of you was dry. The massive raindrops slid down my neck with icy, soaking abandon; they stuck to my eyelashes and dripped down my nose. By now the storm was so intense that I could tell that the humans were having a difficult time seeing five feet in front of their faces.

Elrohir muttered under his breath so only I could hear. "It could be worse, huh?" I glared at him, although the effect was severely diminished by the colossal raindrops hanging off my nose.

The orcs were truly and wholly visible by now: despite the rain, I could spot the individual, bulky forms, not just a blurred, black mass of enemies. The roars were louder and almost deafening. And yet, we continued to wait.

I could see, hear, and sense Aragorn walking back and forth along the wall behind us, weaving throughout the other elves. "A eruchîn, ú-dano i faelas a hyn an uben tanatha le faelas!" **| Show them no mercy, for you shall receive none! | **Aragorn shouted, rallying the troops. Above the rain, I spoke the translation to Gimli. He growled in agreement, gripping his axe tighter: I clenched my bow in my hand, while Elrohir, Elladan and Haldir all grasped the hilts of their swords.

Almost immediately after Aragorn's flow of Sindarin has ceased, a loud, commanding roar was issued from one of the orcs. It's army answered with an even louder howl, bellowing a manic mantra in their evil tongue as, in one motion, the force abruptly stopped. It was a chant that, while almost indiscernible, was also sickeningly familiar and recognizable.

"Ash nazg durbatulûk…ash nazg gimbatul…ash nazg thrakatulûk…ash burzum-ishi krimpatul!" **(1)**

Across the battlements, through the buckets of water pouring from the sky, Aragorn and I looked at each other nervously. _My vision..._My mind spoke to his, and I saw him nod in understanding.

Gimli growled, frustration leaking form the sound. "What's happening out there?!" I suddenly grinned impishly, the abrupt absurdness of our situation temporarily erasing my fear. "Shall I describe it to you?" I asked him, before looking down to meet his eyes and wink. "Or would you like me to find you a box?"

The dwarf's eyebrows rose so high that they almost hit his hairline; before amusement broke out on his features, and he shook with loud guffaws. I chuckled along with him, shaking my hair out slightly, only to have it completely soaked and plastered to my face again a second later. My cousin and the twins looked at the two of us with amazed expressions, with gazes that obviously said, _'They have officially lost their minds.'_

Adrenaline began flowing through my veins: a pounding that soon was in unison with that of my heart. And I grinned: despite the rain, despite the two armies…despite my three elvish friends looking askance at me as if I was insane. Because I knew that in just a few minutes…I would be slaying hundreds and hundreds of orcs. And that was such a viciously satisfying thought.

I gripped my bow tighter: suddenly wishing as Gimli was, for them to attack already. My patience wouldn't outlast my bloodlust for long.

The uruks had, by now, swarmed into a surprisingly straight mass of enemies standing in front of the massive wall of Helm's Deep. With only the pounding of heavy rain, and the occasional angry snarl from an orc, the two armies stared each other down silently. My clothes and hair plastered to my skin, I reached back slowly and drew a golden-fletched arrow. I did not set it in my bow, however; I would not…not until Aragorn gave the signal. _Even now, no, _especially_ now, I trust that man above all others…_ I smiled grimly as an answering chuckle echoed inside my head: at the same moment, I saw Aragorn step closer to the edge of the battlements, and draw his sword.

_So it begins…_Estel's deep, calming voice reverberated inside my mind.

The silence was now beginning to be broken by the bloodthirsty orcs: the roars growing louder, and a steady, angry pounding of weapons against the ground. "Stand firm," I whispered, unsure of whether I was talking to myself, or my friends and fellow warriors.

The roars grew louder…angrier…like raging flames: and I drew my bowstring, my hand tightening on the shaft and the arrow aimed for the whites of the orc general's eyes.

_TWANG!_ An arrow shot forward; but it was not from my own bow. "Dartho!" **| Hold! |** Aragorn shouted; and I inwardly flinched at the command that came just a second too late.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a trembling old Rohirrim man, looking around wildly with a bow noticeably devoid of any arrow. I cursed under my breath as both armies watched a single, stiff orc fall to the ground. Dead.

There was a moment of complete stillness…before everything erupted into chaos.

The orcs howled in rage, guttural cries echoing throughout the Deep and making some of the surrounding Rohirrim shiver in foreboding. Far out in the mass of creatures…standing grotesquely on a boulder…the orc general raised his scimitar…and roared.

It had begun.

* * *

The army charged forward with a mighty cry; the torrential downpour not affecting them in the slightest as it was affecting us. In one, practiced motion, me and my fellow elven warriors pulled our bowstrings taut.

Despite the cold water sliding down my face, my hand was still and steady as I shouted in a carefully calm and controlled voice, "Faeg i-varv dîn na lanc a nu ranc." **| Their armor is weak at the neck and under the arms | **My cousin and the twins drew their swords just as Aragorn yelled, "Leithio i philinn!" **| Fire! |**

I released my arrow into the oncoming orc army; as did hundreds of my companions. Each arrow found its mark: it was difficult for them not to, considering how many enemies there were. I quickly drew another arrow, setting it in my longbow and waiting for my best friend's next command.

"Anybody hit anything?!" Gimli shouted, eagerly hopping up and down to try to see over the wall. I chuckled grimly. "Jealous, Elvellon?" The dwarf guffawed, clenching his axe tighter. "Oh, you just wait, ya pointy-earred princess—!"

I grinned darkly: it had been a very long time since I had shared mid-battle banter with someone…it would be quite an experience to boast to Gimli over my accomplishments later – that is, if we both survived long enough to actually do so.

On the other side of the fortress, I heard Théoden's general, Gamling, give a mighty cry of, "Fire!" I fired my arrow; and almost in the same second, reached for another and sent it flying.

"Tangado a chadad!" **| Keep firing! |** Aragorn shouted again, spurring those of us in the archery section on even more. At this point, the forces defending Helm's Deep were still working in an organized, warlike fashion: but as soon as the orcs broke the city, as soon as they came flooding in…I knew that this would not last long. And that invasion was purely inevitable.

I fired two more arrows in rapid succession; grinning as my ability drew an irritated growl from my dwarf-friend. "Come on!" He roared in frustration. "Send 'em to me!" I laughed, adrenaline pounding through my ears and the startling bloodlust making my body eerily still. "You shall soon be getting your wish, Gloinsson!"

My cousin and the twins stood silently and stoically beside me – their drawn swords not moving an inch – yet I could tell that they were also growing restless. Haldir's eyes were raging – angry, and viciously fervent; while Elladan's were more like a child's…bright, eager, with just a hint of wickedness. Elrohir's eyes, however, sent a jolt through my body: they were darker and blacker than the very night surrounding us. They were cold, harsh…_human_. But when my beloved caught me looking at him out of the corner of my eye, the windows to his soul softened in affection…and then hardened again in determination. _He will try to protect me…throughout this battle, at the risk of his life…he will try to protect me, _I thought with sudden realization. Now, under any other circumstance, I would have been irritated at being treated like a child who couldn't protect herself. But now…now, I just smiled at the half-elf in reassurance…and made a mental note to keep track of him during the night.

At this point, the orcs had gathered themselves sufficiently enough to begin shooting crudely-made arrows back up at us. With an inward wince, I saw a few elves get thrown back with a shot to the chest, and fall to the ground. And I could feel the entire earth mourn each and every one of their deaths.

In the process of shooting one arrow and drawing another, I saw many iron contraptions being carried over the heads of our enemies…and as they began to lift steadily up towards the wall using some mysterious mechanism, I realized that this was how Curunîr's spawn was planning to get into our stronghold.

"Pendraith!" ** | Ladders! | **I heard another of Aragorn's shouts; and while I fired another arrow, I spoke the translation to Gimli. "Good!" He yelled back zealously.

I still had many arrows left in my quiver; but as the ladders rose into the air, and dozens of orcs leapt onto the Deeping Wall, I chose to return my bow to my back and draw my twin knives.

Aragorn, from his place to the left of me on the wall, screamed, "Swords! Swords!" As the orcs' ladders arced, and, one by one, crashed into the solid stone. Looking askance, I saw my cousin and the twins readying themselves. I met Elrohir's eyes one last time…

And they were upon us.

I heard Gimli give an almighty roar of vicious glee as his axe met orc-flesh; and not a second later, an enormous uruk leapt down from a ladder and landed in front of me. The creature seemed to snicker at me: in response, I grinned at him, before diving forward, ducking once, and slitting his throat in one smooth motion.

Sensing another behind me, I spun around, my boots moving easily on the wet stone, and slashed upwards, instantly ending it's pathetic life. Haldir moved past me, in combat with a uruk twice his size. Twirling around again, I called out, "Tiro!" **| Duck! |**

Without question, Haldir turned and quickly sank to the ground, gutting an orc behind me while I killed his own opponent. My cousin dashed away to destroy the next orc; but I did not have to hear his thanks to know he had given it.

I could hear Aragorn's grunts and gasps as he skillfully fought a few meters away from me on the wall. And I could also hear the steady, deep breaths of the twins as they gracefully twirled and sliced into flesh around me, in the same, deadly waltz I was taking part in.

With another upwards slash, I killed another orc. _Fifteen_…Dodging a clumsy thrust by a scimitar, I used all my strength to slice my knife clean through the creature's neck. The force of my attack threw the orc's head clean off the wall and onto the ground below. _Sixteen…_

"Hey, Ellacári!" Gimli shouted from my right. "Two already!" I laughed as I blocked a lunge from a sword, realizing that Gimli was counting his kills as well – his count, however, was not as impressive as mine.

"I'm on seventeen!" I shouted back with a laugh, using my fist to punch down on a weak point at my enemy's throat; then slitting his throat as he fell. Gimli immediately took on an outraged look when I glanced at him, growling wildly. "What?! I'll have no pointy-ear outscoring me!" Ducking quickly under a wildly swinging sword, I used the momentum to gut two orcs underneath their arms leaping down from one of the ladders. "Nineteen!" I yelled back again, laughing at his mortified look.

Although our banter was liberatingly carefree, a small pit of worry was growing in my stomach as dozens of ladders lifted onto the wall every moment that we fought. I had killed nineteen orcs already _("Twenty," a small voice in the back of my head said, slashing at another monster)_, but my kill-count made little difference if with every enemy I destroyed, two hundred more rose onto the wall.

I growled furiously as another ladder crashed into the stone in front of me, taking out my anger by swiftly severing the legs off the first orc to leap from his perch. Gimli roared in morbid glee beside me, leaping atop the wall with surprising agility and attacking any uruk who dared to approach him.

After slaughtering five uruks who had ganged up on me (rather foolishly), there was a brief lull in the battle; long enough for me to look desperately around to find my loved ones. Pushing my mind out powerfully – avoiding the tortured minds of the orcs – I successfully located Haldir, Elrohir, Elladan, and Gimli a few meters away from me on the same section of wall. However, Aragorn's battle had taken him farther west: on the other side of the Rohirrim, above the front gates. He was shouting something indiscernible above the roar of battle, and I did not have the time to enter his mind to find out, for at that moment, a dozen more orcs surrounded me, snapping my mind back into my own head and forcing me to focus on my own survival.

"Twenty four," I muttered, killing the foe closest to me, and spinning around to gut the next one. "Twenty five."

"Twenty one!" Gimli shouted with a laugh from beside me. "Twenty two!" I decided with an inward snicker that I would let him believe (for now) that he was winning.

"Mandúlin!" Elrohir suddenly yelled from behind me, and I felt a strong, familiar arm grab me around the waist, forcibly spinning me around the elf I loved as he skillfully decapitated the uruk who would have skewered me from behind on a nasty looking scimitar. Taking a brief moment to glance backwards at Elrohir's raven head of hair a few inches from mine, I whipped my hand out and grabbed the dagger sheathed at his hip, drawing it in one quick motion and throwing it straight through the throat of the orc opposite me.

Elrohir's head snapped around to stare bewilderedly at me, his eyes dark with both adrenaline and a sudden amount of desire, as my other hand was still resting lightly on the small of his back.

Our eyes met.

I swallowed.

"Gwanûr, sellûr? Man carig?!" **| Brother, sister? What are you doing?! |** Elladan shouted from a few meters away, disbelief coloring his voice. "Diriel, melaew!" **| Focus, lovebirds! |**

Haldir chuckled grimly next to my beloved's brother. Elrohir growled, and resumed fighting: I did the same…with certainly _not_ a blush on my face. And so Elrohir and I swiftly broke away, yet slyly stayed within a three-meter radius of each other. Minutes passed in a frenzy, my mind and body settling into the familiar mien of battle.

But as I continued killing any orc who crossed my path, I became increasingly aware of another battalion of enemies marching up the western causeway, adjacent to the mountainside. Aragorn had commanded with a panicked shout for his division of elves to focus all their efforts on shooting those orcs, and I could see why: if they were to storm the western gate, they would breach the courtyard directly beneath us.

_Faica umbar!_ **| Dammit! | **I cursed inwardly, warily eyeing the host creeping up the ramp even as I disposed of my twenty ninth orc. They were much closer to the gate than I was comfortable with…and no matter how many arrows my brethren fired, they would not – could not – be stopped.

Spinning around to decapitate another orc, I was suddenly facing the ramp head on from my place on the wall…and to my horror, an angry chant rose up from the throng, cheering on a single uruk holding a flaming torch. _Faica umbar!_

Aragorn was shouting something imperceptible, his voice being drowned out by the fierce mantra. None of the elves could hear his commands: they were too preoccupied with the ladders and the other orcs on the causeway. Nobody was focusing on the creature with the torch…but why was Aragorn?

Suddenly, I saw it. Just barely…a sliver of metal peeking out from the gateway…a spiked sphere. And then I knew exactly why Aragorn was so panicked.

Nuta. **| Damn |**

_Ellacári!_ A familiar voice suddenly cried within my mind. _ELLACÁRI!_

I spun about to meet Estel's eyes from across the battlements, my sharp gaze snapping to his as I simultaneously drew my longbow once again and fit an arrow in it. "Togo hon dad, Cári!" **| Bring him down, Cári! |**

I pulled back my bowstring, my outside appearance composed, yet my insides were quivering. The first arrow shot from my bow, nailing the uruk in the shoulder. But it did not stop.

"Dago hon! Dago hon!" **| Kill him! Kill him! |** Aragorn yelled to me again. I drew another arrow, and fired…but it was just not enough. The uruk's momentum threw him forward into the archway, the torch lighting Curunîr's devilish creation…

…and the very battlements that Aragorn had been standing on…blew to bits.

_Traako_. **| Shit |**

"No!" I yelled in horror as large chunks of stone flew everywhere, debris obscuring the air so that I could neither see, nor hear my elen-gwanûr. "Aragorn!" I shouted his name, terrified that I could no longer feel him within my mind, and nearly dropped my longbow in my haste to dive into the rubble.

A sudden hand wrapped around my arm, dragging me back from the edge. "Selen! Selen, lasto na nîn!" **| Cousin! Cousin, listen to me! |** Haldir shouted, his hands slick with dark blood and rain as he floundered with me. I shouted wordlessly again, punching my cousin's arms and desperately trying to throw myself forward out of his grasp to get to Aragorn. "Haldir, leithio nîn!" **| Haldir, release me! |**

"No, Ellacári," he hissed as a response, though I could barely hear it with the blood pounding in my ears. "Please, you must stop! You will be of no use to him dead!" I gasped, still trying to throw myself forward into the abyss…smoke clouding my vision and poisoning my lungs.

Distantly, I heard Théoden shout out the command, "Brace the gates! Hold them! Stand fast!" Spinning around so sharply that I finally dislodged my cousin's grip, I skidded to the wall, looking down and to the east. There, on the eastern gate, was another battalion of uruks…this time, with a battering ram. I cursed, momentarily distracted by the new threat. I drew my bow again…and forced myself to focus on shooting the orcs at the new target, and not on Estel. _Thirty one…thirty two…_

Glancing behind me briefly, I noticed that Haldir had resumed fighting: at least semi-confident that I was not going to jump into the wreckage after my friend. _And he is right…at least, I will not do so physically._

Pushing my mind outwards, I searched for Estel's mind – while simultaneously firing more arrows and defending myself against the orcs still climbing the wall. It was not an easy feat, and after a while, I began to become slightly dizzy. I was determined to find my elen-gwanûr, however…and so, after a few moments, I found Aragorn's consciousness.

I tapped it gently. Then I tapped it harder. When he still did not wake up, I let out an inward growl of frustration, and shouted into his mind, _ARAGORN!_

He jolted awake, my yell having the desired effect. I grinned in relief: he was alright. _Wake up, Estel,_ I said grimly. _The battle is not over yet._

Aragorn groaned in dulled pain, and I sensed him stumble dazedly to his feet. _Yes, that's it, Aragorn…no, do not fall back unconscious on me now! You have orcs to kill!_ He grumbled, exasperation that was not my own flowing into my head.

Suddenly, there was a jolt of panic that came from his mind, and before I could ask him what was the matter, I heard him shout, "Gimli!" I barely stifled a groan of dismay. _Oh, you have got to be kidding—_

Whipping my head to the side, I heard a mighty, unmistakable roar come from the other side of the blown wall, and I just barely caught a glance of a short and stout figure leaping into the crowd of uruks. _That stupid dwarf!_

Still fighting, I glanced towards Aragorn within the deep – and was glad to see dozens of my brethren preparing to charge and protect him. A jolt of relief shot through me: my friend was safe. If nothing else…I would not allow another incident like that which had happened at the cliff. Not while I still drew breath.

_Now if only I could say the same for my other companions…for one, that blasted dwarf!_

Slitting the throat of another orc _(thirty three)_, I caught a glimpse of Gimli smashing his axe into the helmet of a uruk twice his size, the creature immediately crumbling to the ground. "Hado i philinn!" **| Hurl the arrows! |** Aragorn shouted to the elves behind him, and dozens of arrows instantly came flying towards Gimli, and the orcs behind him.

I looked to my left, to see Haldir and the twins leaping down a flight of stairs eagerly to get to where the main battle site had shifted. I decided that it was time I joined them as well. Sheathing my knives and running to the flight of stairs, I heard a loud familiar cry of, "Herio!" **| Charge! |** come from my best friend.

Almost instantaneously, both battalions of elves and orcs (along with one lone man and a dwarf) converged, the battle growing even more intense and desperate, if that was even possible. I cursed as I saw Elrohir among those charging…I would not be able to reach them in time at this rate.

Thinking quickly, I grabbed a spare orc shield (the white paint form the Hand of Saruman smearing on my armor…oh, the irony) and threw it on the wet ground, jumping almost casually onto it as it reached the stairs. Bracing my feet, I launched arrows quickly and consecutively, firing one, two, three, four off _(thirty seven)_, before kicking one leg up and hurling the sharp end of the shield towards another orc's neck with my feet _(thirty eight)_.

Drawing one of my twin knives again, I swiftly disposed of the uruk immediately in front of me _(thirty nine)_, and finally joined the charge. Elladan and Elrohir appeared out of seemingly nowhere, running on either side of me towards two familiar, battling figures: one a man, the other a dwarf. "Mi na Haldir?" **| Where is Haldir? |** I shouted, ducking under an oncoming scimitar and glancing at Elrohir as we charged further into the battle. But it was Elladan who answered my slightly panicked question. "Bo en ramb!" **| On the wall! |** He shouted in return, nodding towards a portion of the wall to our right as he suddenly killed an orc beside me. I nodded to him. "Hannon," **| Thanks |** before leaping back into the battle. Haldir would be safe…there was no need to worry. _Then why do I feel such a cold dread in my heart?_

After managing to finish off a particular solid uruk with Elrohir's aid _(that would still count as forty for me)_, a shouted command came from the top of the battlements…an order which came from a very familiar voice. "Aragorn!" Théoden's bodiless voice echoed faintly down to us. "Pull back to the keep! Get your men out of there!"

Aragorn nodded once, before beginning to shout to the rest of the elves, "Am marad! Nan barad!" **| To the Keep! Pull back!** | He met my eyes, and after a moment, I nodded reluctantly, running beside the twins to retrieve Gimli from the fray. "Haldir!" Aragorn shouted to my cousin, still up on the wall. "Nan barad!" **| Pull back! |**

The twins and I finally reached a still battling Gimli, and as I kept running, Dan and Ro swooped down and grabbed the struggling dwarf under the arms, forcibly dragging him back to the inner stronghold. Gimli roared out protests in a mix of angry Common and dwarvish as my beloved and his brother hauled him further inside Helm's Deep.

But then…a very peculiar thing happened. An icy, dreadful chill snaked it's way up my spine…making my hands tremble with a cold that was definitely not due to the subarctic rain. "Am marad!" **| To the Keep! |** I heard my cousin shout to his battalion behind me, up on the wall.

I stopped running abruptly, the motion so sudden that the Dan, Ro, and Gimli continued on for a few seconds, before skidding to a standstill as well. "Cári?" Elladan asked uncertainly, but my attention was completely and inexplicably focused on my cousin. And in the next second…I saw why.

I saw through the rain my cousin's dark form jerk once, and a small gasp which I was somehow able to hear escaped his lips as he was struck. I inhaled sharply in an almost disbelieving fear, but that was all I could manage. I could not even move from my spot in the courtyard, nor find the strength to go to his aid.

Right before my horrified eyes, Haldir spun around, trying desperately to get back an understanding of his surroundings…but he did not see uruk-hai directly behind him…nor the scimitar he held above his head.

With a glint of awful steel, the weapon slashed down…and hit my cousin straight in the back. For a small moment of time…the world just seemed to stop. Flashes of images danced before my eyes, all in the span of a single second…Haldir as an elfling just a few decades younger than me…Haldir, always beside me, always protecting me as I ran recklessly into battle with Isildur, or Elrond…Haldir, guiding us selflessly through Lórien, comforting us all after the fall of our leader. Haldir…my selen…

…My selen, who had now fallen to his knees on the battlements of Helm's Deep as he died.

"NO!" I screamed, finally snapping out of my numb stupor to run back towards the stairs…back towards the wall. I could faintly hear Elrohir and Gimli shouting for me to stop, but I ignored them.

"Haldir!" Aragorn shouted as well, running towards the same stairs…although he was closer to them than me. We struggled through the mass of uruk-hai, both trying desperately to get to the fallen Haldir. My mind was chanting a numb, terrified mantra, my legs feeling like water as I pleaded with a bodiless Eru. _Please, please, please, Gods, please, not him, please, Eru, Gods, PLEASE!_

"Haldir!" I screamed his name, begging with my cousin who could not hear me to stay alive, to stay here…to stay with us.

Aragorn reached the other elf first. And by the time I had managed to rush up the stairs, and skid to my knees beside them, my elen-gwanûr was already cradling my cousin's limp body…his eyes staring sightlessly into the night sky.

"No…" I whispered, tears streaming down my face and mingling with the rain as Aragorn gently put his hand on Haldir's chest, subtly shifting his body into my arms. "Oh, Elbereth, no!" I sobbed, my whole form trembling in grief as I rocked back and forth on the stone…hugging Haldir close to my body, as if trying to shield him from further harm. _He's dead…he's dead…oh Gods, please no!_

Aragorn let out a fierce growl of rage, and I looked up at him through a haze of tears. What I saw in the man's eyes was pure, unadulterated _rage_. I barely had enough time to gasp in bewilderment, before the Heir of Isildur was leaping away from me towards the wall, grabbing onto a ladder…and jumping off of the battlements with a mighty, outraged battle cry.

"Estel!" I cried, almost hurdling after him, but being restrained by the reminder of Haldir's body on my lap, making my stomach lurch in another wave of anguish. I looked down at my cousin. He looked so blank…so cold. _Haldir should never look this way_, I thought angrily, tears continuing to spill down my face and drip upon Haldir's cheek. _He should always have a smile on his face…he should never be so unresponsive, so unreachable._

_He should not be dead._

As this thought struck my mind…a similar rage to the one that Aragorn had just experienced rose up inside of me. No. No, I would not allow this to happen. I _refuse_ to allow this to happen. Not again. Not to him.

Gathering Haldir up even more securely in my arms, I centered my mind and feä, pressing my forehead against his cold, clammy one. Gently rocking him back and forth as I had before, I began lowly chanting, energy building up in my chest and in my spirit as I whispered and prayed to any god, any being who would listen.

"Valar, Ellacári, man cerig?!" **| Valar, Ellacári, what are you doing?! |** A voice I was quite accustomed broke me out of my reverie momentarily, and the familiar clang of metal made me look up through still wet eyes. _Elladan?_

"Ya damn elf, running off like that in the middle of a retreat…what were you thinking?" A gruff, slightly out of breath voice chastised…making my eyes widen in recognition. "Gimli?" "Yeah, it's me, lass," my dwarf friend grumbled from in front of me. A further look revealed that Gimli, Elladan, and Elrohir had all converged around me and Haldir into an unbreakable shield, utterly destroying any orc who dared come close to my huddled form.

"Av-'osto, Mandúlin…hi mîn." **| Fear not, Mandúlin…we are here |** Elrohir stated in a calm voice, glancing back to reassure me of the truth of his statement.

I nodded at him, and breathed deeply, turning my attention back to the lifeless body of my cousin and to the large ball of energy growing in my chest. _Please…Elbereth, please…_I exhaled slowly…calming and relaxing my form…expanding that ball of flame…before my soul finally became a separate entity…away from my physical body.

And within that strange half-life…I found my cousin.

_Haldir…Haldir, lasto beth nîn…tolo dan nan galad… _**| Haldir…Haldir, hear my voice…come back to the light… |**

A few, horrible seconds of silence…before there was a hesitant _thump_. It was so faint, however, that the spark almost immediately died out. I growled inwardly. _Baw! Baw, Haldir…lasto na nîn! Baur le tolo dan! Saes, Haldir…tolo dan! _**| No! No, Haldir…listen to me! You must come back! Please, Haldir…come back! |**

There was an uncertain thump, and beneath my trembling, physical fingertips, I could faintly feel another weak, corresponding beat. Before the spark could be extinguished, I focused on it, making it grow larger, stronger, more…_alive_.

_Tolo dan, Haldir! _**| Come back, Haldir! |**

Another beat.

_TOLO DAN! _**| COME BACK! |**

And suddenly, I was wrenched back into Helm's Deep…into the corporeal world…into the domain of Middle-Earth and this battle to defend the Rohirrim. But there was a significant change…

…Haldir's heart was beating.

Faintly, and unevenly…and with his breathing much too shallow…but it was _there_. He was _alive_…I had saved him.

I let out a laugh of relief. "Ellacári?" Elladan asked hesitantly, snapping me out of my slight daze of happiness. "Is he—?" "Mae! Mae, ho na! Ho na cuino!" **| Yes! Yes, he is! He is alive! |**

Elrohir laughed shakily with similar relief, sheathing his sword and motioning for his twin to help him. With Gimli still standing, defending us with his axe, Dan and Ro swooped down next to me and gently picked Haldir up off the ground, making sure pressure was put on the wound on his back to stop the bleeding.

After one more glance back at the wall – and at the still furiously fighting Aragorn below – the four of us carefully carried the fallen elf back to the keep: Gimli and I clearing the way of uruks, and the twins carrying my injured cousin.

We reached the inside of the keep, where the Rohirrim were desperately trying to brace the inner gate from the battering ram. "We can't hold much longer!" Gamling shouted as we jogged past with Haldir's limp body. Gimli looked at the Rohirrim soldiers attempting to secure the doors, and shook his head at me, with a silent, _You go on to the caves without me._ I nodded in understanding, and hurried to catch up with the twins.

"We must get him into the caves!" I said to them, running around the numerous corners of Helm's Deep to get to the inner sanctuary: hoping all the while that I was going the correct way, and wasn't getting us hopelessly lost.

Skidding around another bend, we finally reached the set of double doors that indicated the entrance to the caves. I banged on the wood with my fist, yelling as loud as I could, "ÉOWYN! Éowyn, it's Ellacári! Let us in, please!"

A few, tense seconds passed – the cloth I was holding against Haldir's chest becoming even more soaked in crimson – before the faint sound of numerous locks being released echoed from inside the cavern. I let out a sigh of relief. Only three short moments later, before the doors finally swung open, the worried face of Théoden's niece greeting us.

"Ellacári? What are you—?" Then, her eyes fell upon Haldir. "By the Gods…" She whispered. "Is he—?" "No, he is still alive," I answered her unspoken question, and – due to the copious amounts of blood beginning to trickle down my fingers – hurried past her into the caves.

"He has been injured in the back," Elladan said as he, his twin and I rushed inside, Éowyn close on our heels. "A deep gash, from his left shoulder to his upper hip. There may be some spinal or rib damage." Éowyn nodded, deep concentration set into her brow as she mentally decided what needed to be done.

"This is your cousin, is it not?" She whispered faintly to me, meeting my eyes briefly. I nodded. "At first…his wound was fatal. But I…" Looking around cautiously at the terrified women and children, I continued in a lower voice (not wanting to encourage the rumors that I was an unnatural witch). "…I managed to restore him. With…well…" A gentle hand was placed upon my shoulder, and when I looked up from Haldir to meet Éowyn's eyes, I was met with a nod of understanding. I inwardly sighed in relief.

There was a flurry of whispers circling around the refugees of the caves…many of the women even going as far as to cry out to us, asking about how the battle was going, if there were many dead…if we had seen their husband or son or father. My stomach twisted in pity for them, but I tried my best to focus on Haldir and the task at hand. _There is no point in telling them that we have been pushed back to the inner keep…they will only lose hope even swifter._

Elladan and Elrohir gently deposited the limp Lórien elf onto a spare cot, and almost immediately, the makeshift bed was surrounded by an assortment of healers and herb-women: the only ones not inquiring as to the state of the battle. "The anatomy of an elf is chiefly the same as that of a human, on a fundamental level," Elrohir explained hastily to the group as his twin and I gently removed Haldir's armor, and the two layers of cotton underneath which covered the wound. "After the battle, we will return with more experienced Elvish healers," the younger twin continued. "But the bleeding needs to be staunched now, as soon as possible."

I nodded at the Rohirrim women – who were slightly in awe of their new task and of us – before turning back to Éowyn and clasping her shoulder lightly. "Take care of him, please…I will return as soon as the battle is over. But now…" "You must go fight," Éowyn finished with a sad smile. "I know. I understand, Ellacári." Then, after hesitating a second, she asked, "Is my uncle…?" "As far as I know, Théoden has fared well, Éowyn. He has not fallen…and not I, nor Aragorn, would allow him to do so."

She exhaled in obvious relief, before nodding at me and pulling me into a brief, light hug. "Be safe, Ellacári." I smiled briefly, but nodded, nevertheless. Glancing one more time at my fallen cousin (who, frankly, I still could not believe I had almost lost…I was still a bit numb in that matter), I pulled my soaked hair, which had long fallen out of its braid, into a sloppy single plait. Éowyn gazed curiously at Elrohir and Elladan, before nodding to some silent analysis, and saying, "May you stay safe as well, my lords." They both seemed surprised at first, before they nodded in return. "Hannon le, maethor-o Rohan." **| Thank you, warrior of Rohan |** Elladan said with a quick, but respective bow. Elrohir nodded in agreement, bowing slightly as well, before meeting my eyes briefly and running off with his twin to return to the battle.

After making sure that Haldir was in good hands, I nodded to Éowyn in thanks, before rushing off after the bloodthirsty twin sons of Elrond. When I finally reached the inner gates leading out to the causeway, I only glimpsed Théoden, as he handed pieces of timber to his soldiers, occasionally shouting commands like, "Brace them!" and "Higher!" Gimli seemed to have disappeared from the place at the gate where I had left him.

But my objective was not fortifying the gate. I ran upwards, away from the gates and towards the top battlements of Helm's Deep: I still had many arrows left in my quiver, and that was the best place to shoot from. When I looked down at my hands after reaching the wall, I was relieved to see that most of Haldir's blood had been washed off them by the rain; I did not know if I would be able to handle wiping off the sticky crimson myself, nor be able to soil my longbow with the lifeblood of my cousin.

Forcing myself to focus on the ongoing battle again, and to momentarily put Haldir's near-death experience out of my mind, I drew an arrow, fitting it into my bow and firing _(forty five)_. I drew another, firing and killing the newest uruk-hai victim in almost the same motion _(forty six)_. But it was no use…for every orc I killed, fifty more rose into the air and onto the battlements on one of the ladders. _This will not do…_

Setting my sights on one of those aforementioned ladders, I drew one arrow – one, single arrow – and fit it into my bow. Pulling back the string, I aimed at the small line of cable keeping the structure in the air. With a sharp twang, the projectile was released…hitting the rope and sending the ladder crashing to the ground. _That must have killed _at least_ a hundred orcs! Although I didn't technically "fight" any of them…I'll have to check with Aragorn about that. I don't trust Gimli to be unbiased in his judgment._

With an inward snort of amusement (an emotion that was slowly returning to me, after the turmoil of my cousin's fall and regeneration), I finally decided to save my arrows for now, and draw my knives again. Spinning around and dispatching of a uruk that was at least twice my size _(forty seven – even though that one should really count as two)_, I turned my attention to my friends. After leaving Haldir with Éowyn in the caves, I had lost track of Gimli and Aragorn…as well as the twins. _Some friend I am…I didn't even notice that my three best friends AND my beloved were missing._

A sudden shout from the gate on my left jolted me from my musings. "Gimli! Aragorn! Get out of there!" I just barely stifled a groan. Oh, Valar…what have those fools done now that would warrant such a statement from Théoden?!

Skidding to the edge of the wall, I looked down…and my stomach immediately dropped down to my boots in dread. _Have they lost their minds?!_ There, fighting madly on the causeway where thousands of orcs still marched, were my two companions. "Elbereth!" I cursed, as I watched the two unsuspecting warriors be grabbed around both their necks by a sneaky uruk.

So entranced was I that I did not even see two very familiar half-elves come up behind me, until they finally tapped me on the shoulder. Spinning around with a flash of panic, I prepared to skewer the supposed "enemies" that held me. Luckily, my fast reflexes stopped me just in time from harming either of the twin sons of Elrond.

"Gods, Ellacári, it's us!" Elladan hissed, grabbing my wrists just in case I decided to try to kill them again. "Here," Elrohir said with a hurried mutter, handing me a long coiled up rope. I smiled as realization hit me: not even sparing the time to thank them before turning around and shouting, "Aragorn!"

Aragorn finally managed to kill the uruk who had been holding them, and looked up at the sound of my voice. Throwing down one end of the rope, all three of us – Elladan, Elrohir, and I – grabbed the other end. I saw Aragorn seize Gimli, and the dwarf hurriedly gripped the rope himself, before they both dived off the walkway and slammed into the wall.

Despite my elven strength, I nearly slid forward on the slick ground and over the wall as their weight was put onto the rope. Elrohir, however, quickly grabbed my waist before I could fly off, grunting heavily before pulling both me and the rope back.

"Urg…pull!" Elladan growled, and all three of us began hauling the two warriors up to the highest wall. To my amusement, both of the raven-haired elves behind me were muttering about how that damn dwarf and their irritating little human of a brother had been eating too much lately.

After only a few more pulls, Aragorn's bleeding hand and vambrace came into view over the stone, and I let go of the rope with no hesitation – trusting the twins to hold it – to grasp his hand and Gimli's arm to pull them the rest of the way to safety.

"You bloody fools!" I hissed, once I was sure they were both unharmed and steady. "What in Elbereth's name were you thinking?! Valar, I ought to—"

"Cári, mellon-nîn, now is not the time," Aragorn grunted, unsheathing his sword again to lunge forward and gut a uruk who had gotten too close for the man's liking. Gimli chortled, gripping his axe while he looked at me and nodded towards the orcs. "Come on, lass: I think ye be getting a bit low on your count!"

I growled indignantly at him, seizing my twin knives and diving into the crowd of foes with new conviction. _Where was I again? Ah yes…forty eight…forty nine…_

But even though our little company had regained some of it's lost energy and spirit…we were still brutally and horribly outnumbered. And it was beginning to show. On the wall, the number of orcs was now almost double the number of defenders: and now, with Haldir gone from the battle and Théoden nowhere to be seen (too busy fortifying the gates) the warriors of Helm's Deep were beginning to lose hope.

"No!" I snarled, slitting the throat of a uruk behind me _(fifty)._ "No, it isn't over!"

But a loud cry from within the keep proclaimed differently. A distant part of me – separate from the bloodthirsty warrior who had taken over my psyche – recognized the voice as Gamling's, Théoden's general. The words he screamed echoed throughout the Deep…and made my stomach clench with dread and horror.

"Fall back! Fall back!"

I saw Aragorn's head snap back to the keep in astonishment, and I could hear the thoughts working in his head: _Retreat? RETREAT? He's giving up NOW?!_

Beside me, Elladan grumbled in barely suppressed outrage, but nevertheless, elbowed his brother, in the clear message of, 'We must do as he says, or we will be overrun.' I cried out in disbelief, before stiffening in determination, ignoring Gamling's call and killing another orc _(fifty three)_. I noted Gimli and Aragorn had done the same.

Elrohir – although extremely disgruntled and angered himself, I could tell – disposed of his last orc, but instead of plunging back into the fray, latched onto my forearm with his hand and began dragging me bodily away from the wall…towards the ramp that led into the inner keep, the last defense we had.

"No!" I shouted. "Elrohir, let me go! Elrohir!" "Stop, Ellacári," my beloved hissed at me, speeding his pace into a fast trot, dodging orcs skillfully as he forced me to retreat. "We must pull back…there is no other choice."

And although I continued to struggle, continued to lash out and kill as many enemies as I could while being glued to Elrohir's side…some small part of me knew that he was right. The battlements of Helm's Deep were lost, for now. Our only hope was to fall back and gather our wits and masses…only then would we have a chance, and not by having individual acts of foolish brashness.

"Oi!" Gimli shouted, and I glanced behind me to see that Estel and Elladan had grabbed the dwarf as Elrohir had me, and were similarly dragging him back to the keep: although both were doing so very reluctantly.

"Retreat! Retreat!" Gamling shouted again, and this time, I could see him: standing at the gateway, simultaneously slaying orcs and ushering people in.

Aragorn let go of Gimli's arm to allow Elladan to continue shepherding him in; and I managed to disentangle myself from Elrohir's grip to follow the man. Apparently, the half-elf realized that I would not be diving back into the fight anytime soon – even I could see that that course was hopeless at this moment –and so he continued running into the keep.

"Hurry, inside!" Aragorn was shouting, urging the men to run faster into the keep. "Get them inside!" Pulling out my bow once more, I began killing orcs on the pathway before they could even get close to the door, allowing a few more men to scamper past me into the keep.

_Fifty six…fifty seven…fifty eight…_

"Into the keep! Retreat!" Gamling continued to shout from beside us, but soon enough, there was nobody outside the fortress to shout to. When the orcs became aware that there was no one left except two men and an elf, they howled in delight, before moving in like a swarm of grossly colossal insects.

Aragorn spun around, grabbing me in one movement and Gamling in the other. We sprinted through the threshold and into the stronghold…the last defense and hope of Helm's Deep. The large wooden doors slammed shut behind us with a cold finality. And in the new, chilling silence of the Deep, with only the muffled roars and bangs of the orcs on the other side of a wall of wood interrupting the quiet…I believe something became quite clear to all of us.

Helm's Deep had fallen. We had failed.

All we had now was our courage…and our honor.

* * *

Translations –

**Mellyn-nîn: tolo, govano ven! – My friends: come, join us!**

**Selen – Cousin**

**A eruchîn, ú-dano i faelas a hyn an uben tanatha le faelas! – Show them no mercy, for you shall receive none!**

**(1) **Ash nazg durbutulûk…ash nazg gimbatul…ash nazg thrakatulûk…ash burzum-ishi krimpatul! – One ring to rule them all…one ring to find them…one ring to bring them all…and in the darkness bind them! (A/N: I know I keep using this phrase a lot…I do that because 1. It's meaningful. And 2. It's the only orc phrase I know…so I'm kinda at a loss of what else to say…I mean, what do orcs chant when they're going to destroy a whole keep full of people? – These are the things I wonder about).

**Dartho! – Hold!**

**Faeg i-varv dîn na lanc a nu ranc – Their armor is weak at the neck and under the arms.**

**Leitho i philinn! – Fire! (lit. Release the arrows!)**

**Tangado a chadad – Keep firing**

**Pendraith! – Ladders!**

**Tiro – Duck (lit. Look)**

**Gwanûr, sellûr? Man cerig?! – Brother, sister? What are you doing?!**

**Diriel, melaew! – Focus, lovebirds!**

_Faica umbar! – Dammit! (lit. Poor fate!)_

_Nuta – Damn_

**Togo hon dad, Cári! – Bring him down, Cári!**

**Dago hon! Dago hon! – Kill him! Kill him!**

_Traako – Shit _(A/N: do not ask where I got these translations, lol)

**Selen! Selen, lasto na nîn! – Cousin! Cousin, listen to me!**

**Haldir, leithio nîn! – Haldir, release me!  
**

**Hado i philinn! – Hurl the arrows!**

**Herio! – Charge!**

**Min na Haldir? – Where is Haldir?**

**Bo en ramb! – On the wall!**

**Hannon – Thanks**

**Am marad! Nan barad! – To the Keep! Pull back**

**Man cerig? – What are you doing?**

**Av-'osto, Mandúlin…hi mîn – Fear not, Mandúlin…we are here.**

**Haldir…Haldir, lasto beth nîn…tolo dan nan galad… – Haldir…Haldir, hear my voice…come back to the light.**

**Baw! Baw, Haldir…lasto na nîn! Baur le tolo dan! Saes, Haldir…tolo dan! – No! No, Haldir…listen to me! You must come back! Please, Haldir…come back!**

**Tolo dan! – Come back!**

**Mae! Mae, ho na! Ho na cuino! – Yes! Yes, he is! He is alive!**

**Hannon le, maethor-o Rohan – Thank you, warrior of Rohan**

* * *

**Word-Count: 8,908**

**Oh my gosh…I actually wrote a chapter that's almost 9000 words long…*gapes at screen* Wow…that's pretty…intense. *gapes some more***

**Well, I hope that everyone likes this chapter: and again, I am SO sorry about the long update! I took a little hiatus there (I think I just needed to pay attention to real life for a while…and just chill a bit)…but don't worry! I am definitely back! *grins* And the next chapter will be up WAY sooner than this one…I might even get it up and finished before the holiday break ends (which would be before January 3****rd****). The next one is probably going to be a lot shorter – since all that's left is Gandalf's return and the last few scenes of the movie. Then, we're on to Return of the King (yay!).**

**But before I sign off here once again…I just wanna take the time to mention 2 things (lol, don't worry: they're LOTR related). First of all, I was browsing deviantART a few days ago, and I stumbled across this drawing of a female Legolas…and I completely freaked (in a good way), because she was EXACTLY what I pictured Ellacári would look like! So, I asked the artist if I could mention the link here in my next A/N, so here it is! You should really check it out…I think it describes Ellacári perfectly! Just take out the spaces in the link below!**

** tatianaonegina . deviantart art / tolkien-s-elf- 167474795**

**Now, the second thing that I want to rant about…and I bet a lot of you will know what it is, because it seems like EVERYBODY is talking about it (and rightly so!). But incase you haven't caught on yet, or, god-forbid, you haven't HEARD of it at all (*gasp*), I'll just say it outright: the first The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey trailer came out JUST THIS WEEK! *fangirl squeal* Oh my freaking god…I cannot even express in WORDS how awesomely EPIC this movie is going to be! I mean, just look at the trailer! Holy—! *wordless cry of happiness* My gosh…it is truly beautiful. I am so, so excited…I cannot wait for this movie (and god, since the movie comes out on December 14****th****, 2012, if the world ends on 12/21/12, I will be able to die happy XD Then again, I don't really believe in the whole 2012 scam…so I guess I'll be in the clear anyway). But trust me…this movie is going to be so amazing…It's going to be put up there with the LOTR trilogy, just you wait! *grins* But anyway, incase you haven't seen the trailer (or you wanna see it again like me, 'cause I've already watched it about a hundred times), here's the link (again, just take out all the spaces):**

** www . youtube watch ? v= JTSoD4BBCJc**

**Lol, ok, so I'm done with my rants! *readers are relieved* Hey, I needed to let out all my pent-up excitement about this drawing/movie…else I would've imploded, and then you wouldn't have had anymore chapters!).**

**Lol, well, I wish everybody a happy and wonderful holidays! Think of this as my holiday-present to you all!**

**Naamarie!**

**~ CC. **


	28. A New Day Will Come

**Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it. But if anyone sees it floating around on ebay…*cough***

**Hello there, people! I am back again! (*isn't going to even apologize for updating so late, because by now, it should be routine* XD ). This chapter is gonna be a bit shorter than the last one—but it will encompass the rest of the Two Towers movie (since this is movieverse). After this, I'll probably have another short "bridge" chapter (dealing with Haldir's fate, and other things that I have planned), before we move on to the Return of the King (and the confrontation with Saruman).**

**But enough of my rambling! I'll just reply to two anonymous reviews from (the first actually from chapter 1!), and then we can get to it!**

**"Nell" – Yeah, it's true, my character is a**

**_bit_ Mary Sue-ish, I'll admit it. And I do put a little of my own, uh, what's the word…'wish-fulfillment'? Into her development and character. And sometimes, I'm a bit frustrated with how I've written her. But I tend to try to stay away from those thoughts. Because all in all, I'm pretty happy with Ellacári! But thank you so much for your review: I was serious when I said that I welcome criticism with open arms! And I will definitely be taking your thoughts into account—maybe I can make an effort to turn down the Sue-age a bit. *smiles* But anyway, as to the second part of your review…yeah, I totally agree. When I wrote that first chapter…I'm afraid I was a bit more ignorant on Elven history than I am now…*sheepish* Lol, yeah, Thranduil and Elrond did have petty disagreements and arguments…but they never did go to war: I doubt any of the elves did, besides the Kinslayings of course. I'm so sorry about that little error: in fact, I'll go back and edit it now! Thank you!**

**"123" – Yes, I just really didn't have the heart to kill him off…and now he's just kinda sleeping peacefully! *grin* But don't worry, he will be back! And to your other question, nope, Cari isn't a "half-elf…" but I definitely get the connection you drew between the thing she did to Haldir, and what, for example, Elrond did to Frodo after being stabbed by the Witch King (wow, even I didn't think of that…Kudos to you, though! *wink*). So no, I just thought of it as another branch of her "powers" (I use the term loosely). But I did try to connect it to the way she tried to bring back Boromir (in chapter 16), and Aragorn (chapter 22). Just in a more direct way. And, of course, she succeeded! *grin* And yes, the Hobbit! I am so psyched! *squeal* I don't think I can wait one whole year!**

**Warning: I think there's one small curse in here: not that big though, don't worry! :)**

**Now, onto the next chapter! Enjoy!**

Chapter 28 – A New Day Will Come

* * *

"**Mithrandir, Mithrandir! This is wizardry indeed! Come! I would look on this forest, ere the spell changes."**

**~ Legolas, "Helm's Deep"**

* * *

Despite being trapped in that dark, cramped hall of stone – with almost no hope left to our cause – the Rohirrim soldiers' bravery surprised me once again. Instead of simply waiting for the bloodthirsty uruks to break through the doors, instead of giving up, which I had seen other men do, they refused to relent.

Using as many heavy fixtures and furniture as we could find, the remaining men of Rohan and elves of Imladris and Lothlórien braced our last defense and hope…that one set of wooden doors. Everybody in that room put aside their own fears, their own terror…and tried as hard as possible to defend the Deep. To our last breath.

Everybody…except one man. A man who I respected, who I occasionally understood…and who – as he was now – occasionally grated on my nerves.

"The fortress is taken," King Théoden seemed to groan in torment, his voice broken down and weary as Gamling attempted to bandage a puncture wound on his shoulder. The king did not seem to be cooperating.

"Théoden Ki—!" I cried roughly in shock, actually jerking away from the table Dan and I were in the process of lifting to stare at the man in horror. Théoden turned his angry, hopeless glare onto me. "Enough! It is over."

"You said this fortress would never fall while your men defend it!" Aragorn shouted, handing off a wooden bench he had been carrying to Ro and turning back to Théoden. "They still defend it! They have _died_ defending it!"

I turned away from the king in frustration. How _dare_ that man give up like this, just proclaim our defeat in front of his soldiers, his men who had watched their comrades and brothers die that night…his men who continued to fight, despite all odds.

A large and sudden _boom_ shook Helm's Deep. I cursed: they had found a battering ram. Loud screams and sobs of terror drifted their way up to us from the caves, and my stomach clenched at the reminder. If the orcs broke through these doors, even they could not miss the entrance to the innermost sanctuary of the keep…and if they got that far, there would be almost no one left to defend the other women and children. The only person who could fight in that cavern was Éowyn, and while I trusted her abilities…I knew there was no chance she alone could defend the others.

I caught Aragorn's gaze, and the flash of understanding I found there told me that he had been following my train of thought. I turned away to help Ro and Dan tip over a table and fortify the doors, but continued to listen to my friend's next plea. "Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?"

There was a moment of silence. But I saw Gamling and Théoden look at each other, and knew the answer was not 'no.' "Is there no other way?!" Aragorn repeated, desperation clear in his voice. Théoden still did not answer…but Gamling was another story. "There is one passage."

Aragorn stared at the man intently, silently urging him on. "It leads into the mountains. But they will not get far! The uruk-hai are too many!" Aragorn ignored his protests, grabbing Gamling by the shoulder and ordering in a clear voice, "Send word for the women and children to make for the mountain pass, and barricade the entrance!"

Gamling nodded quickly, sparing one last glance at Théoden before running off towards the caves. Another _boom_ echoed throughout the Deep, and I realized that we had run out of wood to strengthen the doors. Now, all that was left were the bodies and strength of the men and elves. Elrohir came up beside me, drawing his sword with one hand and grasping mine with the other. The message was clear: the doors would not hold much longer.

"So much death." I spun around to look at the Rohirrim King, and his utterly defeated tone. "What can men do against such reckless hate?"

Neither Aragorn, nor anybody in that chamber could possibly answer that with anything that would not mock the king or belie our situation. But after a moment of silence…a glint of something I had seen before many times appeared in Estel's eyes. It was a spark of determination, of hope…of passion.

"Ride out with me," the Heir of Isildur whispered to the King of Rohan, a fervent look in his eyes. And he was not the only one: with my elen-gwanûr's zealous words, a jolt of adrenaline flashed through my body, and an encouraging grin flitted across my face as I glanced back at Aragorn and Théoden. _Yes._ Beside me, Gimli growled in agreement, and the twins' eyes noticeably hardened.

Another _boom_.

"For death and glory?" Theoden asked with a cautious, cold eyebrow raised. Aragorn shook his head, the king's cynicism not dampening the fire in the slightest. "For Rohan," the ranger shot back. "For your people."

I grinned again, glancing at Elrohir who had a similar expression, our thoughts in unison now. _Yes._

As if sent by some messenger of the Valar, a slender beam of light shone through one of the windows, high up above us, carved out on the ceiling of the turret. The single flicker of splendor soon was joined by numerous others, and the small slivers seemed to caress our battle-weary armor, making the mithril in my mail sparkle like a field of stars.

"The sun is rising," Gimli said in a small, awed voice, directing Aragorn and Théoden's gaze to the window, and suddenly, I understood the meaning of Gimli's exclamation. I closed my eyes, and deep within my mind, I heard the resonant tone of Mithrandir's voice, as he left us in Edoras all those days ago…

_…Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn…look to the East…_

My grin seemed to flair even brighter at the reminder, and suddenly, our future didn't seem so dark. Elrohir clasped my hand a bit tighter, looking at me with a confused raised eyebrow. He must have seen my suddenly ecstatic expression, but would not have known about Mithrandir's promise. I smiled encouragingly at my beloved: if my gut-feeling was correct, then we would not have to worry for much longer.

"Yes." Theoden suddenly exclaimed. "Yes!" I met his eyes, and saw the same passion as evident in Aragorn's and my own. "The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the Deep…one last time."

Estel glanced at Gimli, and the dwarf nodded, trotting quickly to a small inner hollow within our sanctuary. Briefly, I caught the flash of a brilliant golden horn inside the alcove.

A soft neighing drew my attention away from Gimli's disappearing form, and soon after followed the loud clacking of hooves hitting the hard tiles. I glanced behind myself, and a startled chuckle escaped my lips as my gaze fell upon around twenty horses stamping their hooves and whinnying impatiently. Among the group, I saw Arod, Brego, and the king's horse, Snowmane, as well.

Arod immediately cantered towards me, his head bobbing up and down and eyes sparkling, and I gripped his reins as the twins moved past me to find their own mounts. I leapt onto the horse with ease, motioning for him to walk backwards a bit to be in line with Théoden, Aragorn, and the twins.

Another _boom_ shook the hall: the wood of the double doors was beginning to splinter.

"Fell deeds awake," Théoden growled, pulling on his helmet. "Now for wrath. Now for ruin. And the red dawn!" And on that word, a long, deep horn sounded in Helm's Deep, echoing over and over and overwhelming my eardrums, yet I did not pull away from it. Instead, I let the fury and determination in the single note fuel me into drawing my sword and kicking Arod into motion. At the exact moment that Arod shot forward, the doors exploded, wood flying everywhere and the uruk-hai pouring in.

On my right, Theoden raised his sword and shouted, "Forð Eorlingas!" while Aragorn beside him charged with a dark fire smoldering in his eyes.

Our small company trampled the orcs who had flooded the door, and after that, crushed those who had dared to take the outermost part of the keep and the primary bridge. My sword flashing above Arod, it was almost cruelly easy to decapitate the orcs who escaped the horses' hooves _(sixty two…sixty three…sixty four)_.

But as we charged down the causeway, our raw momentum and power from our horses' hooves began to wane, and I had to rely more on my sword to keep Arod's path clear. _Mithrandir…_I thought nervously as an orc scimitar just barely missed my horse's flank. _Mithrandir!_

"Ellacári!" Aragorn shouted. When I met his eyes, he pointed northwards, towards the mountain's crest…where a sharp, majestic whinny resounded in my ears. _Shadowfax!_

Standing on the apex of the mountainside, the great lord of horses reared up with a mighty cry, sharing his rider's brilliance which surrounded the great wizard like a cloak. Mithrandir.

I grinned, happiness and relief shooting through me like a warming fire. _Mithrandir…Erudraith…_The wizard met my eyes with a smile that I could see even more than a league away.

Spinning away from the wonderful sight momentarily, I continued to slice through any orcs who dared come any closer to Arod and myself _(sixty six…sixty seven)._ As I speared another uruk's head with my sword _(sixty eight)_, I heard another stampede of horses, and a determined Éomer shouting, "Rohirrim!"

I looked back towards the crest, and laid eyes upon an even more welcome sight: the king's nephew…and a legion of what must have been more than two thousand men and steeds. The scene was so beautiful that it nearly brought tears to my eyes.

"For the king!" The Rohirrim man shouted, raising his sword and quickly being echoed by his men. "FOR THE KING!" And with a burst of light, they charged down the mountainside, chainmail glinting in the new sunrise, and Mithrandir's white robes almost blinding in their brightness.

The Rohirrim flooded down the slope, their massiveness never-ending. All around me, orcs turned away from the mere two dozen defenders to face this new foe…but they never stood a chance.

With one more flash of light that seemed to seep through my pores and ignite a new fire in my heart, the Rohirrim reinforcements crashed over the uruk-hai. They trampled the creatures mercilessly in their moment of weakness, the blaze of light blinding the monsters so accustomed to the darkness.

Gripping my sword even tighter in my hand, I glanced to my right and met Elrohir's eyes. Tears of relief were blurring my vision slightly, but I was able to make out the brilliant grin of joy on his face. _We've won._

A wet, tearful chuckle escaped my lips as I ran another orc through _(sixty nine)_. A few feet away from me, another joyous laugh echoed, and with a grin on his face, Théoden shouted, "VICTORY! WE HAVE VICTORY!"

_It is finished._

On my other side, I saw a flash of white, and Mithrandir reached out a hand to clap my shoulder, while he smashed an orc's skull with the other. The wizard grinned triumphantly.

_Curunîr has lost. He has been defeated._

Estel had already moved back into Helm's Deep, aiding a newly unleashed and roaring Gimli in slaughtering the remaining orcs left on the battlements. Although I could not see him, I could certainly _feel_ my elen-gwanûr's satisfaction, relief, and pure happiness through our bond.

_The Battle of Helm's Deep is over._

_We have won._

* * *

When only around a thousand or so scattered uruks remained, Mithrandir initiated a strange change of tactic. Instead of surrounding them, he – and subsequently, me, Estel, Éomer, and Théoden as well – began forcing the group outwards, away from Helm's Deep.

As we came to the top of the hilltop, I saw the orcs running fearfully away from us, tails between their legs, so to speak. Except they were fleeing towards a wall of thick, seemingly impenetrable trees. Trees…which had not been there before.

"Stay out of the forest!" Éomer shouted, turning his horse about-face and stopping the rest of us in our tracks. "Keep away from the trees!"

The uruks, of course, did not heed the man's warning, instead rushing even faster into the newly formed woods. As the last few straggling orcs vanished into the trees, a minute of tense silence passed, the horses neighing and stamping their hooves nervously.

And then it started. Softly, and slowly, but inexplicably there…a low, deep groaning…an ominous creaking…coming from the _trees_.

A few seconds later, impossibly loud screams and shrieks of terror followed the grinding…the wails of orcs being slaughtered.

In a flash, I remembered Mithrandir's words the day he confronted us in Fangorn Forest. _A thing is about to happen here that has not happened since the Elder Days…The Ents are going to wake up. And find that they are strong._

We all gazed at the spectacle, amazed…all except Mithrandir, who simply glanced at Aragorn and I with a small, knowing smile. "The trees had business with these orcs…but the Ents had a matter to settle with Saruman himself." Estel and I exchanged subtly surprised glances. _Isengard had been under attack as well?_

A few minutes later, the screams of the uruks died out, and the trees once again grew silent and still. It was official: the Battle of Helm's Deep was over. We had won…at great cost, yes (my thoughts quickly went back to Haldir, laying injured somewhere in the caves), but we had won, nonetheless.

Another horse trotted quietly next to mine, and when I glanced at the rider, I was met with Elrohir's relieved and happy gaze. Sheathing my sword, I reached out my hand hesitantly, and he grasped it quickly and tightly, our fingers quickly becoming entangled. I felt a sudden and almost choking sense of relief at feeling his hand in mine. _He's alive. He's alive and safe and here with me_.

It amazed me how possessive and protective I had become over him in such a short time.

Elrohir raised an eyebrow at me, reading my thoughts, as if to say, _I am not the one that needs protecting, you fool_.

We were snapped out of our trance when Elladan atop his horse trotted in between us and clapped a hand on both of our shoulders, making us both flinch. "Valar, Dan…" Elrohir murmured to his twin, sending him a cold glare. Elladan – the smug bastard – just grinned. "Come now, you two. We must return to the castle. Heal our wounded, bury our dead…lick our wounds, as they say." The somewhat dark mood returned to us as we remembered how many of our kin – and of the Rohirrim – we had lost. Excluding Haldir, the twins and me, only a handful of elves that had come to our aid remained alive and standing. It made my heart throb with grief, but I would not allow the sorrow to overwhelm me.

Mithrandir. Théoden, and Éomer had already turned back towards the keep, talking quietly between themselves. An eerie silence had fallen, broken only by the occasional whispers of the soldiers and moans of the injured. It was a stark contrast to the shrieking, deafening sounds of battle which had plagued us only an hour ago.

Elrohir grasped my hand, slowly turning around his horse so that the two of us, plus his twin, could walk up the ramp next to each other.

Although the valley was now deathly quiet, I could still hear the faint murmurings of the souls of my kin, who had passed on into Mandos's Halls. They whispered in my ear softly, like flower petals trapped in a light breeze.

We rode in silence for a few hundred meters, leading our horses carefully around the bodies of fallen elves and Rohirrim (the uruks, however, we made an exception: let Arod crush the remains of those monsters, it mattered little to me).

Just below the causeway, a gruff chuckling echoed…along with the shrill sound of an ax being sharpened. Noises I would recognize anywhere.

I smiled sadly at the twins, dismounting Arod and handing Elrohir the reins. "I'll meet you in the caves," I said to them in a low tone, and turned swiftly to stride towards Gimli.

A few seconds later I stood in front of the smug dwarf, holding my bow with a distinct smugness of my own. _There is no way that he beat my tally!_

"Final count: seventy two." I said with a poorly disguised grin.

"Seventy two?!" He said with disbelief. I grinned even wider. "That's not bad for a pointy-eared Elvish princess." The dwarf's voice grew even more smug, and my eyebrow raised in suspicion. "I myself am sitting pretty on seventy _three_."

My eyebrow rose even higher, and a dissatisfied frown came over my features. _Well, that won't do…_A slight twitch came from the orc that Gimli was sitting on, and I seized the opportunity. I drew an arrow, fit it in my longbow, and – before my dwarvish friend could even react – shot the twitching uruk between Gimli's legs. I grinned in triumph as it immediately became still.

"Seventy three." I proclaimed in a calm voice.

Gimli gaped at me. "He was already dead!"

I shook my head, my grin growing wider. "He was twitching."

"He was twitching because he's got my ax embedded in his nervous system!" He shook his ax handle, making the dead uruk jolt in response. I chuckled clapping his shoulder. "It is a tie, Gimli! Face it!

"Lass—!" He roared in protest, but I just continued to chuckle. It felt ever so good to laugh again…during the battle, I had almost forgotten what laughter was. My mood suddenly became less smug and more serene. "It's good to be alive, isn't it, Elvellon?" I smiled at him.

Gimli's indignant look softened, and he chortled, removing his ax from the corpse with a single swift movement and slowly standing up. "Ai, lass…that it is."

I flashed him a grin again, winking slyly, before bouncing off to the caves. As I departed, the loud protests of a dwarf who had been tricked faded behind me.

"But don't you dare think that this count is over, elf! I was one ahead of you and you know it!"

* * *

Translations –

Eruedraith – Whom Eru has saved (lit. God has saved thee)

* * *

**Word-Count: 3,080**

**Okay, then, thus ends this chapter! Again, I am sorry for the long wait…but I hope that you enjoyed this!**

**Tomorrow, I'm going on a mini-vacation to Washington D.C. (a little "break before the actual Spring Break," if you will). The car ride will be a couple of hours, and I'll have a lot of time on the actual trip, so, I'm hoping that I'll be able to write the short bridge chapter that comes after this during this trip, and post it before April 2****nd. Again, the key word is "hopefully." If I can't get it up by then, then I'll definitely be able to update before Spring Break is over—around April 16th.**

**So, I'll see you then!**

**Naamarie…**

**~ CC.**


	29. Reverberations

**Disclaimer: *sigh* I still do not own it…So sad…So sad…**

**Hi there! I am back again: and this time, in Washington D.C! (America's capital). It's so beautiful here…the perfect temperature, sunny 75 degrees. I just got back from touring the city…walked down the National Mall; saw the Smithsonian Art Gallery (which was absolutely beautiful: it has the only Leonardo da Vinci painting in the Western hemisphere!); went to the Old Post Office Pavillion; and had lunch at Union Station. It was so much walking, but it was so worth it! *sigh* But now, my touring-crazed family has finally given me a break to write! *cheers* Yay!**

**So let's move on to the story. I would apologize for not updating in so long (I think since Spring Break), but, you know, I do it so often now that it's not even worth it. You know that I'm sorry, no matter what I don't say. :) So…yeah. Moving on. This chapter is pretty short, since it's only a bridge chapter between end of The Two Towers and the beginning of the Return of the King.**

**Since my Summer Vacation has officially started (woohoo!), I'll be able to update a lot more, hopefully. Then again, I've promised that before with no results, so who knows? Anyway, here is the new chapter. Enjoy! :)**

Chapter 29 – Reverberations

* * *

**The king now returned to the Hornburg, and slept…and the remainder of his chosen company rested also. But the others, all that were not hurt or wounded, began a great labour; for many had fallen in the battle and lay dead upon the field or in the Deep.**

**~ "The Road to Isengard"**

* * *

As I traveled back into the depths of Helm's Deep, everywhere I looked there was damage, ruin, and destruction. We may have won the battle, but in the process…Curunîr had destroyed this once proud city. The scenes that pulled my heartstrings the most were those of the crying family members who had been left behind. The wives and daughters and mothers whose men had gone off to fight for Middle-Earth…and had not come back.

The wails and sobs of the Rohirrim women tore at me: my heart throbbed with their pain. I wished I could go to them, comfort them, tell them that the world would not always be this way. But I could not bring myself to approach any of them: partly because I knew I could not promise the latter, and partly because I had been in their position more times than I could count. My mother; my grandparents; Elros; Isildur; Gil-Galad; Celebrimbor; Mithrandir; Arathorn; Boromir; Aragorn…

_…Haldir…_

I swallowed heavily, trying to shake off the aura of sadness like a cloak. I had to get to the caves…had to find Haldir and make sure he was okay. That was my incentive now. _Focus, Ellacári…just one more turn, and then you'll be in the caves._

As soon as I strode around the next corner, the mourning cries of the Rohirrim slowly died out and were replaced by the hustle and bustle of an infirmary that was receiving too many patients at once. Amidst all the shouting and running around, I could clearly hear Éowyn commanding the other healers in a calm and orderly fashion.

I carefully steered around the Rohirrim women and men (the latter mostly laid out on cots, stripped of their armor already) and gravitated towards Éowyn's voice.

"Éowyn!" I called loudly, trying to gently push aside some Rohirrim women who had gathered into some sort of cluster right in front of me. "Éowyn!"

A flash of blonde came from near the end of the crowd, and after a few seconds, I felt a warm hand grab mine and pull me through the mass of people. When I emerged from the other side, I was met with Éowyn's tired and weary, yet relieved face. "Ellacári…" She breathed, a smile immediately lighting up her features as she pulled me into a hug, and I reciprocated with equal enthusiasm. "You managed to emerge from this battle unscathed?" She asked with a raised when we pulled back from each other. I rolled my eyes. _She is already speaking like my father…_

"I suppose so," I answered with a coy shrug, feeling as I did so the sharp, but bearable, sting of a series of lacerations on my right shoulder: caused by, if my memory was correct, an orc's multipronged spear. There were also the small flesh wounds on my hands, the cut on my cheek, and an overall sensation of exhaustion and heaviness which had seemingly soaked into every single one of my bones. _But Éowyn does not need to know this. I cannot rest or tend to my wounds yet: there is still much that I must do._

Yet the shieldmaiden of Rohan was more perceptive than I had given her credit for. Her eyes narrowed in the telltale 'annoyed healer' expression. I sighed heavily. "I'm fine, Éowyn. Just…please. Bring me to my cousin, and then I'll rest. I promise." She eyed me uncertainly, before nodding in reluctant acquiescence.

"Your cousin is over here, where we have been tending to the elves." After making sure the other healers had everything under control in the main room, she motioned for me to follow her to an even more isolated section of the caves. The thought of going even deeper underground – even more surrounded by cold stone and dark earth – made me shudder in revulsion, but I closed my eyes and convinced myself to bear it. _I have to…think of Haldir. _Taking one last deep breath, I followed Éowyn into the cavern.

There were a few twists and turns, but it only took half a minute at most to reach the second infirmary (which made the knot of anxiety in my stomach unravel). I was relieved to see a bit more than two dozen other elves lying on cots: injured, but alive. This cheered my heart greatly, as I had believed only the twins, Haldir, and I to be the only Elvish survivors.

"Over here, Ellacári," Éowyn said quietly, unwilling to break the calm silence that reigned in the room. Unlike the bustling activity of the main cavern, this room was quiet, yet comfortable: caused by the presence of my brethren. As always, when in the company of elves – even ill ones – the whole world seemed to stand still. There were only a handful of Rohirrim women tending to the wounded: and they all seemed to be pretty well off. If the wounds weren't too serious, as most of these incidents were, Elvish biology could usually take care of itself.

I followed Éowyn over to a small corner, and there on a white cot lay my cousin. His skin was clammy and sallow, and the lanterns and torches beside him cast an orange glow across his pale features. He looked like Death warmed over. _But that, at least, is better than being actually dead._

Haldir had been stripped of his armor and dressed in dry, Rohirrim trousers. His hair had been cut short in places and bandaged, to make sure there was no damage to his skull, and it gave him an un-elflike, spiky look. It suited him, in a strange, unnatural way.

Healers had swathed my cousin's chest in white cloth, leaving no part of his torso uncovered. And yet with all the dressings and pressure, streaks of crimson continued to seep through, which worried me. The bleeding should have stopped by now…but Haldir's wound _had _technically been fatal.

"There is more damage than there appears to be," I told Éowyn. "It is too dangerous to operate on such a delicate injury…one mistake and he could lose the use of his legs forever." Éowyn flinched at that, and I inwardly agreed with her: that could be a fate worse than death, at least for a warrior like Haldir. In a lower voice, I added, "I will have to heal the most lethal part of this injury now…and let his own body take care of the rest, once he is out of mortal danger." I glanced at her to see if this show of Elvish witchcraft unnerved her. Yet while there was a flicker of nervousness in her eyes, she straightened bravely and nodded, moving beside me to shield Haldir's body from the inquisitive eyes of the Rohirrim women.

I sighed in relief, whispering a soft, "Hannon le," to her as I carefully took off my armor and cleansed my hands in a bowl of warm water.

I ran my hands carefully over the crimson-stained bandages, before carefully unraveling them. I motioned for Éowyn to help me lift his torso, and turn him onto his stomach. I was not entirely comfortable with him being upside down – his breathing might be restricted – but that was the only way to fully access the injury. I flinched slightly when the wound became completely exposed: the edges of the puncture and the skin around it was swollen bright red, which reeked of infection. I would have to heal that first, before trying to close the wound as much as I could safely.

Gently placing my hand directly over the injury, I closed my eyes and concentrated on drawing the harmful contaminants out of his entire system. It took a surprising amount of effort to be able to focus on only the substances which were harming him, but eventually, specks of dirt, mud, dried blood, and sickeningly familiar thick yellow pus began to emerge. Even in unconsciousness, Haldir's body tensed perceptibly. I was glad that he was not awake to feel the agony that would've no doubt arisen during the process.

Every once and a while I lifted my single hand away from the wound to rub away the infectants: dispersing them into the ground as the formless aether from whence they'd come. Then I'd return to the puncture, and begin the cycle again. After a few minutes of this draining, I used a few handfuls of conjured water to sweep through his system one last time, making sure every speck infection was gone. Being confident of this, I pressed a hand to his chest one final time to close up the injury. It would not heal immediately: but it would allow his body the time and chance to fix itself.

Sighing heavily, I turned away from my cousin, trying to coyly rest my weight on Éowyn's arm. I would rather die than admit it…but I was absolutely exhausted. The continuous drain of magic, plus the battle that had only ended a mere hour ago, had left me completely shattered. I desperately needed to sleep.

Éowyn noticed my eyes glazing, and carefully wrapped a hand around my waist, leading me towards a bed in the corner, not far from Haldir. I weakly tried to protest. "No, Éowyn…I need to find…Estel…and Mithrandir…" Éowyn shook her head. "Do not worry, I will tell them where you are. If their need to speak with you is truly great, then you will be awoken. But for now, rest, Cári. You need it."

My limp form hit the cot and it suddenly felt like the most comfortable bed in the entire world. "No…Éowyn…" "Hush now, stubborn princess…" She said fondly, taking away my bow and laying it beside me. "Sleep…" The irony that I was millennia older than her and being treated like a child occurred to me, but I neither had the energy, nor the focus to care.

"Sleep…"

* * *

"Ellacári…Ellacári…Arise, titta-míne **| little one |**…" I groaned softly, focusing my eyes and wincing as a ray of light hit them. "Mana—?" **| What—? |**

"Á tulë sí** | Come now |**, Cári. You have slept long enough. Your work is not done yet." The voice became deeper, and (unfortunately) familiar. I groaned again. _Leave me alone, le yaivë istar! _**| you stupid wizard |**

A deep chuckle sounded from above me – proving that the eavesdropper had been listening to my thoughts – before the thin blanket covering my body was abruptly ripped off, turning my temperature from comfortably warm to freezing cold in a second. "AI! Man carát?!" **| AH! What are you doing?! |** I shrieked, shivering already as I reached desperately for the blanket. The cruel man just threw it across the room. "Úcarnet nîn!" **| Traitor! | **The wizard just raised an eyebrow at me. _That arse!_

"We are going to be moving out to Isengard soon. I was under the impression that you wanted to be awoken when that time came. If I was mistaken, we could just leave without you…" The man trailed off, and I glared at him, because I knew that he had beaten me there. I would've killed them in the long run if they had left without waking me up. But then again, I really did need the rest…I hadn't slept peacefully in days, and even elves have limits.

I growled at him, before reluctantly leaving the bed and pulling on my boots that were beside the cot. "I knew you would recognize your hypocrisy eventually," Mithrandir said with a cheeky smile, alerting me once again that he had read my mind.

I glared at him even more furiously. "A mitta lambetya cendelessë orcova." **| Go kiss an orc |**

Mithrandir chuckled, completely unaffected by my insults. _That insolent—! Oh, it's no use. Just let it go, Ellacári…it's not worth it._

After I had gotten on my boots and retrieved my bow, quiver, and knives from the other side of the bed (pointedly ignoring Mithrandir the entire time), I gently prodded the wound on my shoulder. All that remained was a dull ache: it seemed like my healing sleep had done its job. Since there was no bleeding, I felt no need to change the bandages, and so reluctantly rose, and walked away from the thinned, dirty cot which had become oh so comfortable for the past few hours, Mithrandir walking beside me.

As we walked past the other injured elves, we passed an empty, blood-stained cot that looked familiar. I stopped abruptly, staring at it, stunned. "Mithrandir, where is Haldir?!" I asked, panic already beginning to speed through my veins.

"Don't worry, Cári," An entirely different voice answered. "Your cousin is safe." I spun around to find a tired, pale Éowyn, wiping blood and herbs off her hands with a piece of wet cloth. "A group of Elves who were unharmed took him and a few of your more critically injured kin and left the city in a caravan. One of the captains, I believe her name was Miriel, said that they were going to bring the injured to the nearest Elvish settlement…for them to heal faster." Éowyn dropped the now soiled cloth into a dish of water, retying her hair braid, as it had come undone. "I would have told you, but you needed the rest."

I looked at her for a moment longer, before glancing at Mithrandir and asking softly, "Ma carina nás?" **| Is this true? | **The wizard nodded calmly. "Náto." **| Yes |**

I pursed my lips, still trying to decide if I was okay with this. I had met Captain Miriel a few times before, and she was an honorable and intelligent elleth. After a few moments, I judged her decision trustworthy, and nodded thankfully at Éowyn.

"Te lelyá tulë Mirkwoodenna." **| They will go to Mirkwood |** I said to Mithrandir tersely. "Ará tulë atto-nîn." **| And to my father |**

Mithrandir nodded again, saying nothing in response. _Hmm, well then, maybe he does not realize that my father will _kill_ me when Haldir wakes up and tells him of what has happened on this little quest so far. Valar, I am doomed…_

The wizard shrugged lightly at my horrified thoughts, choosing only to respond with, "Aiqua n'uva, n'uva." **| Whatever will be, will be |**

I stared at him, incredulous, before sighing and accepting that the omniscient wizard knew something I did not, and was not going to tell me anything anytime soon. Turning back to Éowyn, I smiled wearily, and clasped her shoulder. "Thank you, Éowyn. For everything. Truly…I owe you much."

The human woman just smiled gently, gripping my elbow softly in return. "Westu hal. Ferðu." **(1)**

I raised an eyebrow at her use of Rohirric (which I could just barely grasp the meaning of), and she just smirked at me, as if to say, _See how you like it, being spoken to in another language you don't understand. _I chuckled sheepishly and cuffed her lightly on the shoulder.

"Go on," Éowyn said, enforcing her second appeal with a small push towards a quickly departing Mithrandir, who had already left me behind from exasperation. I had no doubt that the wizard would actually convince the rest of the company to leave without me, so I quickly said goodbye to Éowyn and hurried after my mentor.

"So my cousin is gone…what about Dan and Ro? Did they leave without letting me know as well?" I asked when I caught up to him. Mithrandir shook his head. "Nay, the twin sons of Elrond are still here. They were resting as you were until a few minutes ago. I believe Aragorn woke them up. They should be…ah, yes. Here we are."

I looked away from the istar and found that we had emerged from the caves, arriving in the main, open-aired chamber of Helm's Deep. The wooden set of doors that once rested in the fourth wall were utterly destroyed, leaving a gaping hole in the stone barricade. Along with a few curious Rohirrim spectators, the only ones who occupied the area were the twins, Aragorn and Gimli – astride Brego and Arod respectively – King Théoden, Éomer, Captain Gamling, and now Mithrandir and I.

Next to the other horses, Shadowfax (unbridled and unsaddled) neighed impatiently, whickering for his master's attention. While Mithrandir mounted the lord of horses with a strength that belied his age, I walked calmly up to Arod and leapt onto the young steed in front of Gimli. I heard my dwarf friend sigh in quiet relief as I took the reins from him and immediately quelled Arod's nervous twitches.

Elrohir trotted up beside us, and brushed my hand gently with his. "Feeling better?" He murmured, concern lacing his voice. I smiled softly as a response, nodding in an affirmative. "Yes, I think I just needed the rest. And you? Mithrandir told me that you and Dan slept as well…?" The peredhel nodded. "Yes, although we were forced to by that insufferable brother of ours." He shot a playful glare at Aragorn (who was trying to look innocent and failing).

"An insufferable brother who _should've _been resting as well, but was instead working himself to the bone in the infirmary," Elladan added, cuffing said man lightly on the shoulder. Aragorn just rolled his eyes, murmuring halfheartedly something along the lines of, _"I rested…"_ We all looked at him disbelievingly. The to-be-king of Gondor sank noticeably lower in his saddle.

Beside us, Théoden chuckled briefly at our antics, before turning towards the causeway and proclaiming in a loud voice, "We ride to Isengard!" Then, in a tenser, quieter tone, muttered to the wizard, "Although what we shall find there has yet to be discovered."

Mithrandir raised a coy eyebrow, and a small, amused chuckle rumbled in his chest at the king's irritation.

To his credit, Théoden managed to coolly shake away his annoyance as he urged Snowmane forward and through the shattered gates.

And with one final glance back at the Deep, we rode. Away from the scene of one of the greatest, cruelest battles of this Age. And towards an unknown future, filled with perils that have yet to be seen.

Mithrandir was right.

The Battle of Helm's Deep was over.

But the battle for Middle-Earth…that was only just beginning.

* * *

Translations –

_Titta-míne – Little one  
_  
_Mana—? – What—?_**  
**  
_Á tulë sí – Come now_

_Le yaivë istar!_ – _You stupid wizard! (lit. You insulting wizard!)_

_AI! Man carat?! – AH! What are you doing?!  
_  
_Úcarnet nîn – Traitor (lit. You've wronged me)_

_A mitta lambetya cendelessë orcova – Go kiss an orc  
_  
_Ma carina nás? – Is this true?_

_Náto – Yes_

_Te lelyá tulë Mirkwoodenna – They will go to Mirkwood.  
_  
_Ará tulë atto-nîn – And to my father__Aiqua n'uva, n'uva – Whatever will be, will be_**  
**  
**(1) **Westu hal. Ferðu. – May you fair well. Go now. (Rohirric)

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**Word-Count: 3,042**

**So I don't have much to say in this last A/N, other than the fact I am very sorry I have not been able to update before now. It's been a tough year, and I'm just so glad that it's over. Now, it's summer, and I can just relax, have fun, and have a breather.**

**To any of you that are still with me, I just want to say thank you. And trust me when I say that updates should be coming in a lot quicker now, now that I actually have the time to do it. And since Return of the King has some of my favorite scenes, it'll go much faster. :)**

**Again, thank you so much for sticking with me, and I hoped you enjoyed this chapter!**

**Until next time…**

**Naamarie!**

**~ CC.**


	30. The Voice of Saruman

**Disclaimer: If I owned it…um…okay, I give up. I have no more jokes for my disclaimers. Oh well. So yeah. You guessed it. Still don't own it. =_=**

**Wow. I am a horrible updater. You've probably already realized that by now if you've been following this story for any amount of time whatsoever. And for any newcomers? Yeah. I'm a horrible updater. (I'm giving out a special apology to Ynnealay, who has been a great motivator for working on this – because, yeah, I have little to no work ethic without somebody prodding me along ^^; So thank you, and I'm sorry it took this long).**

**But anyway. Here's chapter 30. I was really pleased with all the reviews and favorites/story-alerts I got for the last chapter – it looks like a lot of people haven't given up on me yet! *flails happily* Thank you all so much~! :D You have no idea how happy it makes me. You guys make it all worth it :)**

**I'll just do a reply to one anonymous review, and then we'll be on our way! :)**

**"Dilila" – So happy that you're still following this! I know it's been so long since I last posted, and I feel so guilty for that! ^^; And I'm completely blown away that you consider this story one of your favorites…that seems so surreal for me, I can hardly believe it! But thank you so much: I am honored. *lip quivering* :')**

**Ok, well, here we go~! Hope you enjoy :)**

Chapter 30 – The Voice of Saruman

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…**Another voice spoke, low and melodious, it's very sound an enchantment. Those who listened unwarily to that voice could seldom report the words that they heard…Mostly they remembered only that it was a delight to hear the voice speaking…none were unmoved; none rejected its pleas and its commands without an effort of mind and will…"Well?" it said now with gentle question. "Why must you disturb my rest? Will you give me no peace at all by night or day?" It's tone was that of a kindly heart aggrieved by injuries undeserved.**

**~ "The Voice of Saruman"**

* * *

It took just over a day to ride from Helm's Deep to Isengard, as the two fortresses were relatively close to one another. We departed the Deep at around noon on March 4th, and after riding through the night, arrived at Isengard a little after dawn on the 5th.

At Mithrandir's insistence, we took the shortcut through Fangorn, although some members of our party were rather…_reluctant_, to say the least (Gimli protested so profusely for so long that Estel, the twins, and I were on the verge of shoving a sock into his mouth: unfortunately, no sock had been available at the time).

As we came closer and closer to the fortress, I began to wonder what exactly we would find there. Mithrandir had certainly implied that Curunîr's stronghold had been attacked as well, around the same time that we had been defending Helm's Deep. But since the hobbits had accompanied the Ents…then there was a very large chance that they had joined the attack on Isengard. Had they survived? And if so, were they injured? Were they safe now? And what about Curunîr? Was that traitorous wizard still alive, or was he cooped up in his tower like the coward he was? Letting his lackeys do the work and be killed for it (not that I had any sympathy for them either).

As if sensing the direction my thoughts were going, Estel lightly grasped my shoulder from atop Brego, directly next to where I was steering Arod. "Cári, huin na cuino. Huin narn." **| Cári, they are alive. They must be. **|

I breathed deeply and nodded. Aragorn was right. They were alive. They had to be: wouldn't I have felt some sort of cosmic disturbance if they weren't (as clichéd as that sounded)? And why would Mithrandir let them go with the Ents if he thought they would be in life-threatening danger?

"Uncle," the curious voice of Éomer quite abruptly jolted me out of my musings. "Can you hear…_laughter_?"

Théoden cocked his head, as did I, and we both realized that Éomer was right: there _was _laughter, coming from a clearing only a dozen meters away now. Laughter that was very familiar, and laced with a loose conversation said by voices very recognizable indeed.

_"I feel like I'm back at the Green Dragon! A mug of ale in my hand…putting my feet up on a settle after a hard day's work!"_

_"HA! You've never done a hard day's work!"_

_"What are you talkin' about?! Of course I've—"_

At that moment, our company broke through the tree-line into the clearing, Mithrandir in front and already chuckling. "You foolish Halflings," I heard him murmur halfheartedly, warmness and relief tangible in his voice.

The laughing grew louder and more jubilant as all of us filed into the clearing. And suddenly the two figures were standing and clapping, stumbling drunkenly and waving their pipes in the air. And of course it was Merry and Pippin – for whom else would find it appropriate to become inebriated after attacking one of the strongest fortresses on Middle-Earth?

An involuntary grin swept over my features, and I began to laugh outright; Aragorn and the twins doing the same beside me. My worries a few minutes previous all seemed so ridiculous now. Of course they were alive! What an absurd thing to think otherwise.

Merry tripped over his own feet trying to stand straighter on the stone gate of Isengard, but Pippin managed to steady of them, both of them laughing hysterically. "Welcome, my Lords and Lady—" Merry sloppily bowed to me, his legs wobbling comically, and I grinned, "—to Isengard!"

"Or what is left of it!" Pippin added with a victorious laugh, and both of them cheered raucously.

Gimli sputtered indignantly, looking up at the hobbits from behind me on Arod's saddle. "You young rascals! A merry hunt you've led us on, and now we find you feasting! And…and smoking!"

I laughed even louder, and I could see Aragorn out of the corner of my eye trying to hold in his chuckles.

"We are sitting on a field of victory," Pippin objected with a smirk, "Enjoying a few well-earned comforts." Simultaneously, they both took a deep drag from their pipes, and my stomach was on the verge of cramping because of how hard I was laughing.

"The salted pork is _particularly _good," Pippin added with a wink in the dwarf's direction. Gimli immediately stiffened, and I could hear his stomach rumbling. "Salted pork?" The dwarf almost whimpered (although he would profusely deny it later), and Mithrandir looked at him and rolled his eyes, muttering something about hobbits, dwarves, and stomachs.

I glanced over at the Rohirrim part of our company, and saw many bemused expressions. Théoden was looking at me with a raised eyebrow, and I shrugged at him with a smile, as if to say, _Yes, they are always like this. Yes, this is what I have to put up with. No, I do not really mind._ Éomer let out a bark of laughter at his uncle's reaction to that.

"Hobbits," Mithrandir said impatiently, though what he was asking of them I did not know. Apparently a drunken Merry and Pippin did, however, since they both stopped laughing (even though the grins did not leave their faces).

"We're under orders from Treebeard," Merry answered, he and Pippin climbing down from the wall as he spoke. "Who's taken over management of Isengard."

Elladan coughed slightly in surprise, urging his horse forward a bit to catch the halflings' attentions. "Young one, by Treebeard, do you mean Master Fangorn?" I glanced at him in surprise: even I had not met the ruler of the Forest, only heard legends told to me on stormy nights by my grandfather or grandmother, long before Sauron rose to power. Only a select few had had the honor of meeting an Ent, let alone Fangorn himself, and as their race had all but passed into legend, I was surprised that the twins knew of him. Then again, maybe I shouldn't have been – they grew up as charges of Glorfindel, as well as the grandchildren of Galadriel. The idea was not so farfetched.

Both hobbits – now on the ground – nodded hurriedly (if a bit unsteadily) at the peredhel. "Yeah, I think he mentioned that once…" Merry said. "…Didn't really pay attention, 'cause, you know, Treebeard can really talk your ear off!" Pippin added.

Mithrandir grunted stoically, urging Shadowfax on through the gates and motioning for us to follow. Brego trotted obediently after, and as he passed the hobbits, Aragorn grabbed Pippin's hand and lifted him onto the back of his horse. The hobbit squeaked nervously, scrambling to get a grip and put his pipe away at the same time.

Elladan offered his hand to Merry, who took it with a grin, and was lifted up onto the back of the horse with a small _oomph_.

Dan turned back and winked at the hobbit. "I am Elladan Elrondian, but you may call me Dan. And he—" He said, pointing at Elrohir, who was next to me, "—is my brother, Elrohir."

"But you may call me Ro," Said twin interjected with a smile. Merry laughed, though the sound was a bit calmer: the pipeweed and wine seemed to be wearing off. "I'm Merry, and that over there is Pippin. If you don't mind me saying so, you two look awfully familiar…Did we see you at the Council?"

"Well, yes, I am sure you did. But you've probably heard of my twin even more than you've seen him," Elladan said with a smirk. "You have been traveling with Ellacári long enough to have heard of the _man of her dreams_." He said the last bit with a longing, utterly sappy look in Elrohir's direction, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't control the blush that leapt upon my cheeks.

"Le pe-channas!" **| You idiot! |** I hissed, and I would have hit him if Elrohir hadn't beat me to it. Rolling his eyes at Elladan's yelp, the younger twin galloped forward, saying back in a dry tone, "Do stop talking, brother. You lower the intelligence of the entire region when you do."

Gimli guffawed, gripping my arm slightly and saying in a low voice, "I'm beginning to like this one, lassie. He's got backbone." I laughed softly, the blush thankfully receding as I relished in the confounded look on Elladan's face.

"If you children are done with your piddling," Mithrandir turned back to face us with a raised eyebrow, "There are more important things to be done." Under the wizard's stern gaze, we all shrunk back, and nodded solemnly.

It was pleasant to have a carefree mood at first: still sailing on the rush from reuniting the disbanded fellowship for the first time in weeks. But the wizard was right. Somewhere in this wreck of Isengard, a traitorous istar lay waiting.

Elladan glanced at me and gestured forward with his hand. I nodded and spurred Arod on, Gimli letting out a grunt of surprise before gripping my waist again. Following behind Aragorn and Pippin, we entered the ruined household of Curunîr.

* * *

As we passed beyond the gate, I saw that Pippin's previous comment of how not much of the fortress remained was quite accurate: Isengard had been completely destroyed. The image I had had of the green, living paradise from the last time I had visited Curunîr – before he had betrayed us – had morphed into a hellhole of machinery, metal, fire, and water. The truly saddening part was that I could not tell how much of the damage was from the Ents' attack, or from the wizard himself.

Our company only had a ride a few more meters inward until Orthanc was upon us. And standing in front of the tower, proud and tall, was one of the most wondrous creatures I had ever seen. An Ent: a true, in-the-flesh shepherd of the forest. And not only an Ent, but the Father of the Forest: Fangorn himself, also known as Treebeard, in the Tongues of Men.

My heart leapt into my throat, and I nearly choked in excitement. It was one thing to know that they still lived…but quite another to see one with my own eyes. Ents were thought to be long extinct, and though many elves had hoped and prayed otherwise, none had appeared outside of Fangorn in many millennia. And not even we – the strongest and wisest of the peoples of Arda – had dared to venture into the Dark Forest to find out if they still existed.

But it seemed as if they had finally emerged, as Mithrandir had promised, and – looking around at the devastation of Isengard – I was extremely glad that they had decided to join our side.

"Hmmm," Treebeard thundered in a deep baritone. "Young Master Gandalf…it has been long since our last meeting." His deep, gold eyes perused our company. "You come with men…and with elves!"

His ancient gaze – older than even me – pierced mine, and I opened my psyche, letting him see into my soul. He _hurummed_ quietly, before breaking the mindlock and moving on to the twins. "Hmm…twin sons of Elrond…Peredhil **| Half-Elves |**…you are known to us…As are you, Lady of Edhil **| Elves |**," He rumbled, turning back to me. "So far from your home in the forest you have strayed, little leaf…much like us, ai?" I smiled in delight while my eyes simultaneously widened in awe.

Placing a hand upon my breast, I bowed my head to the great Ent, murmuring, "Ai, Hir-nîn Fangorn **| My Lord Treebeard |**…ai…tis an honor."

Mithrandir bowed his head as well to the tree-herder, saying in a clear voice, "I wish we could meet here under different circumstances, my friend."

Treebeard _hmmed_ thoughtfully, and the sound reminded me of when wind rushes through the trees near the palace in Mirkwood. "Wood and water, stock and stone I can master. But there's a _wizard_ to manage here." He motioned to Orthanc. "Locked in his tower."

Our entire company looked up at the top of Orthanc, but there was nobody to be seen. Aragorn narrowed his eyes, his hand twitching in discomfort. "Show yourself…" He murmured.

"Be careful," Mithrandir warned, his eyes never leaving the tower. "Even in defeat Saruman is dangerous."

"Then let's just have his head and be done with it!" Gimli grumbled, clearly not on board with the idea of sparing the wizard (not like I was either).

"No!" Mithrandir responded. "No…we need him alive." He gripped his staff tighter, and murmured in a lower voice, "We need him to talk."

A harsh, cold wind suddenly swept through our company, and I involuntarily shivered. Gimli stiffened behind me, while Aragorn and the twins shifted uneasily.

"You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King, and made peace afterwards," As one, our company looked up towards the top of Orthanc, and suddenly, there he was. Curunîr…the traitorous wizard…stood upon the edge of his tower. His voice echoed eerily throughout all of Isengard…and it seemed to me as if it resounded _inside_ my own head as well. I had witnessed the power Curunîr's voice held long ago; but it had never before been directed at _me. _I felt slightly ill at the reminder that a wizard who had once been a fairly good acquaintance was now lost to us.

"Can we not take council, as we once did, my old friend?" Curunîr continued, his voice deceptively calm and alluring. It made a chill go down my spine, and I tried not to shiver again. "Can we not have peace, you and I?"

"…We shall have peace." Théoden answered softly, and I could almost feel the wizard's feeling of triumph at that. Aragorn glanced at the Rohirrim king worriedly, and I was brought back to our first meeting with Théoden (was it really only a few days ago?), when he had been bewitched by this very wizard…this very voice.

But there was no need to fear…for Théoden's mental weakness had long been overridden by his fury, on behalf of himself and his people.

"We shall have peace, when you answer for the burning of the Westfold," the king shouted up at Curunîr, his voice getting progressively louder, "and the children that lie dead there. We shall have peace, when the lives of the soldiers, whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg, are avenged!"

The king was now almost shaking in rage, but he quieted into a cold fury near the end of his accusations. "When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows…we shall have peace."

At Théoden's words, Curunîr dropped his tranquil guise, and his voice became colder, harsher…completely unrecognizable to me. "Gibbets and crows?! Dotard!" He shrieked at us, before turning away from the king and towards Mithrandir.

"What do you want Gandalf Greyhame? Let me guess: the key of Orthanc, or perhaps the key of Barad-dûr itself? Along with the crowns of the seven kings and the rods of the five wizards!"

"Your treachery has already cost many lives. Thousands more are now at risk. But you could save them!" Mithrandir pleaded with the man who was once his friend, and I realized that his voice echoed within my mind as well…but while Curunîr's speech was like an icy poison, Mithrandir's was a warm, soothing breeze. "…Saruman," Mithrandir continued. "You were deep in the enemy's council."

Curunîr gave an evil smirk. "So you have come here for information…I have some for you."

And from his robes, the wizard drew out a glowing orb…one which, when I recognized it, made my stomach drop. _A palantír…so that is how he has been communicating with Sauron…It has been long since I have seen one of the Stones. I thought they had been long lost._

A faint glow was emitting from the palantír, and it grew brighter as Curunîr stared deeply into it. A dark shadow tickled at the back of my mind…like something caught in my throat. I breathed deeply and tried to ward it off, but the feeling only grew stronger as the wizard spoke. "Something festers in the heart of Middle-Earth…" He said with a small sneer. "Something that you have failed to see. Oh, but the Great Eye has seen it." He stowed the orb away once again in the folds of his robes. "Even now he presses his advantage."

Mithrandir pressed Shadowfax forward slowly as Curunîr's smirk became wider and crueler. "His attack will come soon…" The traitorous wizard let out a bark of laughter, before saying in cold voice, "You are all going to die."

I only just managed to control my inward flinch from becoming visible. Instead, I channeled my twinge of fear into anger, my eyes narrowing in my hatred of the wizard.

"But you know this, don't you, Gandalf?" The wizard sneered at Mithrandir, and then gestured at Aragorn. "You cannot think that this _ranger_ will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor! This exile, crept from the shadows, will never be crowned king." With every word, I saw Aragorn stiffen atop Brego, and it became so intense by the end of the accusations that Pippin had begun to look at the man with noticeable concern. I sent him the general feeling of comfort, and made sure to convey the faith I had in him as the heir and eventual ruler of Men.

I shot a glare at Curunîr, and for the first time since we had arrived, he met my eyes and sneered.

"Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those closest to him," He said with a smug look in my direction. "Those he professes to _love_." My eyes narrowed, and now I was the one stiffening in my saddle instead of Aragorn.

"Tell me," Curunîr continued, turning back to Mithrandir, "What words of comfort did you give the Halfling…before you sent him to his doom?" Mithrandir seemed to slump slightly at that: it was barely noticeable, but it revealed that the wizard shared my fears as well. "The path that you have set him on can only lead to death."

"I've heard enough!" Gimli shouted abruptly, and then quieted momentarily to nudge me and mutter, "Shoot him. Stick an arrow in his gob." I reached for an arrow – entirely content to do just that – but unfortunately Mithrandir stopped me before I could fire.

"Come down, Saruman…" Mithrandir asked the other wizard, his voice pleading but firm, "And your life will be spared."

"Save your pity and your mercy; I have no use for it!" With that exclamation, a burst of fire erupted from Curunîr's staff. I could physically _feel_ the wave of raw energy that flew towards Mithrandir, taking the form of a surge of flames, but before I could even attempt to block it, the blaze had already disappeared. In its place stood Shadowfax and Mithrandir: both unharmed, and both more powerful than ever. I realized in a flash that what my wizard friend had just done was _absorb_ Curunîr's spell…something that required an extreme amount of power and experience. Even Curunîr himself only had a basic understanding of it. And knowing this, I was able to recognize that this new emotion in Curunîr's eyes was no longer arrogance or ire…but fear.

"Saruman…" Mithrandir called up in a calm voice, although his voice was laced with steel. "Your staff is broken." A surge of energy flew up towards the top of Orthanc, and in a flash, Curunîr's staff imploded, making the wizard gasp and stumble backwards.

Curunîr gaped at his now empty hand (as I was also doing, due to the fact that it was nearly impossible to break a wizard's staff). But after a few seconds, an unexpected, hunched figure emerged from behind him. His hair was greasy and pitch black, as was his cloak. I recognized him with a lurch of my stomach: Gríma Wormtongue…the traitor. Gimli, Aragorn, and I stiffened at the exact same moment, while the twins looked on in confusion.

Théoden shifted uneasily on his horse, but instead of berating him, the Rohirrim king surprised me. "Gríma," He called up in an unexpectedly compassionate voice, "You need not follow him. You were not always as you are now. You were once a man of Rohan! Please, come down."

And for just that moment, there was pure apology in Wormtongue's eyes, which astonished me even more. There was no deception, no cruelty which I had seen in his eyes the first time we met…just raw regret. Maybe the destruction at Helm's Deep had broken the shell Curunîr had built up around his heart. Gríma bit his lip to prevent tears from spilling out, and nodded, stumbling back in order to climb down from Orthanc.

"A man of Rohan?" Curunîr sneered, and Wormtongue stopped in his tracks. "What is the house of Rohan but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and rats roll on the floor with the dogs?! Victory at Helm's Deep does not belong to you, Théoden Horsemaster! You are a lesser son of greater sires."

I could tell that this last remark hit the king hard, but he did not do anything other than stiffen further. He ignored the wizard, and called up again, "Gríma, come down. Be free of him."

"Free?!" The traitorous wizard shrieked. "He will never be free!"

"No." Wormtongue rasped almost inaudibly, gritting his teeth at his master. Curunîr whipped around, his fists clenched. "Get down, cur!" He shouted, backhanding the man (who I was beginning to feel a small amount of pity for). Wormtongue flew across the top of the tower, yelping out pathetically, which made Théoden flinch.

"Saruman!" Mithrandir drew back the other wizard's attention, possibly attempting to spare Gríma for now. "You were deep in the enemy's council. Tell us what you know."

Curunîr turned back to us, pursed his lips, and nodded slowly. There was resignation in his eyes, as if he had decided that sooner or later, because of his failure, Sauron was going to kill him, and so he had a greater chance of living if he told us what we needed to know. "You withdraw your guard, and I will tell you where your doom will be decided."

As the wizard was speaking, I heard the faint but familiar sound of a dagger being drawn. I looked around frantically at my companions, but none of them had moved. _What—?_

"I will not be held prisoner here!" Curunîr continued to shout, but as he began to make his next request, he was abruptly cut off. I heard a gasp from Orthanc, and looked up to find Curunîr's own lackey stabbing him.

"NO!" Mithrandir snarled, and I knew that without Curunîr we would never know Sauron's next plan of attack. The fate of Middle-Earth could rest on what the istar knew. Without thinking, I drew an arrow, and fired it at Wormtongue. It hit his stomach with a _thwack_, making him drop the dagger with a gasp and fall to the ground, becoming limp and lifeless in a few seconds. Théoden stared on in shock.

Curunîr swayed a bit at the edge of the tower, blood gurgling at his mouth and staining his white robes crimson. But both Mithrandir and I were helpless to prevent gravity. In a flash, the istar's limp form crumpled and tumbled off the top of Orthanc, falling almost impossibly far before coming to a sudden halt when he was impaled by the spoke of a large wheel.

A sickening _crunch_ echoed around our company. The hobbits gasped, covering their mouths and shutting their eyes tightly at the sight. The body was limp and motionless, and the istar's eyes were flung wide open in morbid horror. Saruman the White was dead.

I swallowed heavily, closing my own eyes briefly: whether for the grief of a once-good friend dying or the way he met his grisly end, I did not know.

Mithrandir stared at the corpse for a moment, before spinning Shadowfax around so he could face a still stunned Théoden. "Send word to all our allies, and to every corner of Middle-Earth that still stands free. The enemy moves against us! We need to know where he will strike."

Just before he finished speaking, a loud aching, creaking sound emanated from the spiked wheel Curunîr had been impaled on. Slowly, as our company watched with pale faces, the wheel turned, sliding the wizard's body into the filthy water. In a few seconds it was over: Curunîr's grey boots disappearing into the murkiness. But before they did, something caught my eye. Out of the wizard's robe sleeve dropped a black glass orb. It fell into the water, sinking with a loud _plunk_.

"The filth of Saruman…is washing away…" Fangorn rumbled, and continued on for a few more seconds, speaking of trees and nature, but I was too distracted by the now-lost palantír to truly hear him.

Before I could glance at Mithrandir (possibly to ask him if we were to take the Seeing Stone with us), a loud splash came from the area where Aragorn and the twins were holding their horses. At first I thought one of them had dismounted, but when a panicked Estel shouted, "Pippin?!" I knew that that was not the case.

The palantír had begun to glow again in the water, and the shadow I had felt earlier returned in full force. Before I could cry out to warn Pippin to get away from that evil thing – after all, who knew what Sauron's Seeing Stone could do to a hobbit – he had already waded over to the glow and picked up the orb.

As the glass stone revealed itself to the company, Fangorn sucked in a rough breath and said in that gravelly voice of his, "Bless my bark!"

"Peregrin Took," Mithrandir trotted Shadowfax over to the mesmerized hobbit, and motioned for the stone, a stern look in his eyes. "I'll take that, my lad." When Pippin hesitated, the wizard's eyes became more urgent, and he motioned with his hand. "Quickly now!"

After a few seconds, the hobbit handed Mithrandir the palantír, although it was with clear reluctance. The wizard proceeded to quickly cover the orb with a spare blanket, and placed it carefully within his side-bag. With a searching and slightly uneasy glance at Pippin (who avoided his gaze), Mithrandir turned away and shouted to our company, "We ride to Edoras."

While the majority of the men followed him, Aragorn slowly trotted over to Pippin and extended his hand to the shifty hobbit. After another hesitant look at Mithrandir's back, Pippin thankfully took his hand and was lifted onto the back of Brego. Aragorn, the twins, and I turned to leave – all of us twitching uncomfortably at the tense silence – and as we left, Fangorn pressed his large hand to his chest, and said, "Thou shall always be welcome here, Children of the Elves and Earth…if you have need, we will aid you best we can."

Elladan looked behind him and smiled gratefully at the ent. "Hannon le, hir-nîn Fangorn." **| Thank you, my lord Treebeard |**

I nodded in agreement. "Naamarie." **| Farewell |**

As we galloped off, quickly catching up with the rest of our company, Fangorn shouted a parting entreaty. "Farewell, children…good luck. For I fear you shall all need it…"

* * *

Translations –

**Cári, huin na cuino. Huin narn. – Cári, they are alive. They must be.**

**Le pe-channas! – You idiot!**

**Peredhil – Half-Elves (plural)  
**  
**Edhil – Elves (plural)  
**  
**Hir-nîn Fangorn – My Lord Treebeard  
**  
**Hannon le, hir-nîn Fangorn – Thank you, my lord Treebeard  
**  
_**Naamarie – Farewell**_

* * *

**Word-Count: 4,584**

**Again, I am SO sorry that I haven't updated in such a long time…ugh, I feel so guilty. But I hope you all like this chapter (those of you that are still here…heh…). It's just that I've had wayyy too much work to do…I've been having to balance both schoolwork and actual work (which I know so many people do, but I'm just truly beginning to understand how difficult it is), and now quarterlies are coming up…**

**I live in NYC, so Hurricane Sandy is actually a blessing. I mean, I'm inwardly freaking out because it's scary, and there's a legitimate flood outside my door (like, 2 feet high), but I've been able to get all my homework and projects done because I don't have school or work for 2 days, AND because of that, I was able to finish this chapter. So, yay for Sandy! ^^;**

**But anyway, enough about my ranting. Hope you enjoyed it :) Oh, and btw, if any of you caught the BBC Sherlock reference in the beginning of this chapter, you are my new best friend. I couldn't help but include it. XD**

**Hopefully next update will come quicker (but no promises…heh heh…)! For those of you living on the East Coast of the USA like me, stay safe and dry! We can get through this! =D**

**Naamarie!**

**~ CC.**


	31. Hail the Victorious Dead

**Disclaimer: None of it belongs to me…still…and really, I don't see this changing any time soon.**

**Well, everybody, I'm back! Here with Chapter 31. And we're finally beginning to get into ROTK territory! The last book/movie…and personally my favorite one! So I'm really excited about this ^^**

**Sorry if it took me a long time to reply to reviews and PMs…usually I'm good about that sort of thing, but to be honest, I was nervous about feedback… ^^; But thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews and critiques! I love reading them all, even if they make me anxious (lol, but in a good way). And thank you also to all my readers who kept pushing me to update sooner (I'm looking at you BurnedSpy and Ynnealay XD ). You really are all quite motivating!**

**"dilila" – I'm so sorry I made you worry about giving up this story! But trust me, if I were to give up (HIGHLY unlikely), then I would definitely let all my readers know. I would never leave you guys hanging like that. *hugs* And yes! You got the Sherlock reference! Congrats! Lol, yeah the original line that he says to Anderson is something like "Stop talking, Anderson, you lower the IQ of the entire block when you do." So I changed IQ to intelligence because I didn't think they would have the term "IQ" in Middle-Earth. But I thought it was appropriate (plus, I'm equally obsessed with Sherlock, so I wanted to include it!). But anyway, thank you so much for your review! :D And thank you for putting up with my long hiatuses…I'll definitely try to get my chapters up much faster. ^^**

**"Guest" – So sorry it takes me so long to update! I feel so guilty…but I will try to get them up quicker! Honestly! ^^;**

**"Thunder Stag" – First of all, thank you for your compliments! I use Elvish because I just like it! I'm so much of a nerd that I'm kinda obsessed with just reading Tolkien's appendices and notes on language and syntax…bleh, I'm really am such a language nerd…So really I got most of it from Tolkien's notes and stuff, but then I also pick up a lot from other people's fanfics – which is one of the reasons I use Elvish, so that other people can pick up a bit of Elvish too. And yeah, I realized that Istar is the singular a while ago…I've just been too lazy to go back and edit it. Heh…And the reason that I do all the translations every time is because a lot of my readers complained about not having them, so I figured it was just easier to do it. But I'm glad that you seem to like my story :)**

**Ok, here's the next chapter, FINALLY! Hope you enjoy it.**

Chapter 31 – Hail the Victorious Dead

* * *

"**Yes, we have won, but only the first victory, and that in itself increases our danger."**

**~ Gandalf, "The Palantír"**

* * *

It took a little bit longer to return to Edoras instead of Helm's Deep. We departed the ruins of Isengard a little after dawn, and arrived in the city that evening. By that point we were all fairly exhausted – even me, with my Elvish stamina. The hobbits had fallen asleep on the back of their riding-partners' horses, and I had a feeling Gimli would have been nodding off as well if it weren't for Arod's galloping.

We rode through the gates of Edoras wearily, and in stark contrast to our first arrival in the capital, we were the ones who looked dead on our feet. The Rohirrim townspeople began cheering enthusiastically, and I flinched for a moment at the volume. Gimli jolted out of his semi-comatose state, and Merry and Pippin nearly fell off their horses.

Mithrandir and Théoden waved and bowed at the crowds, showing absolutely no signs of the almost 16 hour ride we had just undergone. I glared at them. Damn wizards…damn horse-lord kings…

Our company stopped right in front of the Golden Hall, and a bit unsteadily, we dismounted our horses. A jolt of pain ripped through my spine momentarily, and I winced again, before straightening and attempting to ease the ache. Ah, that was better. Gimli, on the other hand, was having a bit more of a struggle, evident in the way he just slowly slid off the saddle and collapsed on the ground in a heap.

I chuckled wearily, quickly helping him up and muttering in his ear, "Ladies and gentlemen, the great dwarf war hero of Helm's Deep." Gimli shot me a dark glare, and I smiled innocently.

Éomer walked over to us, clapping us on our shoulders companionably and leading us inside. "My friends, a great feast has been prepared for us. Will you not join us?" I smiled at him and nodded: a bit of food and good fellowship would do us all some good. I motioned for Aragorn and the twins to join us.

Elrohir wrapped an arm around my waist and after a moment's hesitation, and I leaned my head on his shoulder. As one, we strode inside Meduseld.

* * *

"Tonight…we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country…" Théoden raised his glass to the hundreds of people gathered in the hall. Beside Elrohir and Elladan, I grasped my chalice and lowered my eyes, remembering all my fallen kin who had so selflessly sacrificed themselves to save the race of Men.

I remembered the human boy Niulm, who had developed an adolescent crush on me, and who was probably lying dead on the battlements of Helm's Deep. As I grasped Elrohir's hand, I wept inwardly for the opportunities so harshly ripped away from the boy: the opportunity to know what true love felt like.

And I remembered Haldir…who, somewhere on the plains of Rohan, lay unconscious in an Elvish caravan. Being shepherded safely to Mirkwood, after sustaining an injury that should have killed him.

"Hail the victorious dead!" Théoden shouted, raising his chalice higher.

"HAIL!" We cried back in response, and for a moment, I glanced away from my cup, meeting Elrohir's eyes. A sad smile graced his lips, before he gently clinked our glasses together. "Le, Mandúlin." **| To thee, Mandúlin |**

I softly smiled back at him. "Le, Rochbenîn." | **To thee, Rochbenîn |**

And with our eyes never leaving each other's, we raised our cups to our lips…and drank.

* * *

All thoughts of exhaustion, war, and despair soon faded away from everyone's mind, as the banquet and partying took over the hall. For all their faults, I will give the Rohirrim this: they do know how to throw a victory feast.

Usually when visiting foreign kingdoms, I was considered a dignitary, so I was much more used to elaborate banquets with tasteful sips of wine and long, drawn out speeches that _nobody_ enjoyed, if everyone who attended was to be completely honest.

But the non-formal parties in Mirkwood…well, those were much more of this ilk. And I may be a princess, but I am a princess of the _Wood-Elves_, so never let it be said that Ellacári Thranduiliana did not know how to dance, merry-make, or hold her liquor.

"No pauses, no spills," Éomer said with a laugh to the circle of men and single dwarf, distributing mugs of ale to everyone gathered. I pushed my way through the crowd, a grinning Elrohir gripping my hand and following.

"And no regurgitation!" Gimli shouted, roaring with laughter and shaking his cup at me when I came into view. Standing next to Ro, I crossed my arms and smirked. "Oh, a drinking game?" I glanced at Éomer. "How quaint."

A Rohirrim soldier sputtered in my direction, eyes boggling. "Quaint?!"

Éomer chuckled and, after a moment of hesitation about letting a woman into their game, handed me a mug. As I sniffed the contents suspiciously (bleh, so weak…this was all it took to make a Rohirrim man drunk?), Éomer offered another to Elrohir.

The peredhellaughed, shaking his head in adamant refusal after seeing the glint in my eye. "Ohhhh no, not if Ellacári is participating."

Gimli shook with laughter at that, raising his mug at me and saluting. "Last one standing wins, lassie! Make sure you don't hit yer head on the way down!"

I took a sip of the mead, grimacing at the taste. Ugh, this was what men considered liquor? Even Eorl had had better alcohol than this. Maybe it was an acquired taste…

Elrohir chuckled at the dwarf, crossing his arms and watching as I calmly finished the first cup. "You might want to rethink this Master Dwarf~" He sang with a laugh. "Ellacári is a _wood-elf_, after all…"

I grinned into my second mug, watched as Gimli gleefully ignored my beloved, and continued drinking.

* * *

Fifteen minutes and twelve glasses of ale later, Gimli was drunk out of his mind.

Actually, that was untrue.

He had been drunk out of his mind at the ten minute mark, at least.

"Heh heh," He looked up at me from his tenth mug while I looked down at him from my thirteenth. "It's the dwarves that go swimmin'…with little hairy women!" He belched, and I wrinkled my nose unpleasantly, placing my empty cup down and reaching for another.

Next to me, Elrohir and Aragorn were laughing so hard they had to grasp at each other to stay upright.

With one last gulp, I finished my fifteenth mug, and as I placed it down on the table, I frowned as a peculiar, but familiar sensation came upon me.

I looked at my fingers, rubbing them together experimentally. "I feel something."

Éomer raised his eyebrows incredulously at me. "A slight tingling in my fingers." I gaped at him. "I think it's actually affecting me!"

Gimli slammed his cup down. "What did I say?" He slurred drunkenly. "She can't hold her liquor…!" And with that, the dwarf's eyes crossed, and he promptly fainted.

Éomer, the twins, Aragorn and I all leaned forward to stare at the snoring dwarf. I grabbed another mug of ale, and grinned. "Game over."

* * *

The feast continued well into the night. A few hours away from dawn, the party began to wind down: the Rohirrim returning to their houses with spouses or lovers, their hearts and eyes heavy with drink and sleep.

Mithrandir managed to drag the drunken hobbits back to the communal room Théoden had given our company, at around the same time that the twins lugged a still-unconscious Gimli to his cot. By around three o'clock in the morning, Meduseld was completely silent: empty except for a few men sleeping off their hangovers.

With almost my entire fellowship asleep – even Dan and Ro – I smiled peacefully, and after stoking the fire that still burned in the hall, gathered up my cloak. I glanced at Éowyn: the human woman was dozing on the settee in front of the fire, a calm expression on her face.

I fastened my cloak and pulled up the hood, crouching down briefly to press a chaste kiss to her forehead, to send her even deeper into her dreams.

For just a moment, as I walked out on the balcony and looked towards the stars, the world was at peace.

* * *

…And if the shadow of an eye of fire was slowly creeping its way into my mind?

Well, that could wait until later.

* * *

Translations –

**Le Mandúlin – To thee, Mandúlin**

**Le Rochbenîn – To thee, Rochbenîn**

* * *

**Word-Count: 1,406**

**Well guys, here's your next update. And yes, it is embarrassingly short for such a long hiatus…*facepalm* But in my defense, I WAS going to include the palantir scene in this chapter, but I figured that I should give you guys an update soon, so I ended the chapter here. That just means that the wait for the next chappy will be a bit shorter ^^ (hopefully). Actually – and don't cross your fingers here – but I might be able to get the next chapter up before the week ends, since I seem to be in a writing mood and I have 5 days off from school.**

**But, again, not promising anything – just hoping.**

**As always, I appreciate all the motivation and reviews you guys have sent in…I really do. You are all wonderful: thank you so much for putting up with me as your resident ridiculously slow author…*hugs***

**Oh, and by the way, what did you guys think about the Hobbit (those who saw it)? I thought it was very good – but I was disappointed by the lack of Orlando Bloom (as I was telling JigglyJelloWithCoconut). Damn you, IMDB…getting my hopes up with the promises of Legolas…well, hopefully he'll be in the next two movies. Even if it's just a cameo, come on Peter Jackson, I want something! (A Thranduil and Legolas father-son bonding moment? Please?). But anyway, what were your opinions on it? I'd like to know :)**

**And I know that it's a bit late – I've had this for a while, but I was debating about whether or not to post it. My tumblr url is ageofgeek, so if anybody wants to follow me, that'd be cool. It's actually more of a direct way to reach me, but I warn you – I do post some LOTR stuff, but most of it is Avengers, Hetalia, Sherlock, and, um, smut. Basically. So, um, yeah. *scratches head* …Sorry? Follow if you dare? ^^;**

**Okay, I'll stop with my awkward ramblings now and get started on the next chapter. Hopefully it'll be up soon!**

**'Til then,**

**Naamarie~!**

**~ CC.**


	32. The Palantir

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, still don't own any of it.**

**Okay guys, I'm back :) This time the update is a little faster, yes? Not gonna have that long of an A/N this time – just going to get right to it.**

**"dilila" – Glad you enjoyed this chapter! Again, sorry I haven't updated in a really long time…but I seem to have gotten my motivation back to continue writing this, so hopefully updates will be a bit closer together. And yeah, I really liked the Hobbit too! I can honestly say, with no regrets, that I squealed like a little girl when Elrond came on screen. ^^; And yeah, Legolas wasn't in the Hobbit book technically, but it does make sense for him to be there, since it's established that he's old enough in canon, and he is Thranduil's son (who is in the book). So hopefully he will be in the next two movies (keeping my fingers crossed!).**

**Thank you for all your reviews and support, as always! Love you guys!**

Chapter 32 – The Palantír

* * *

"**Our whole life for months has been one long meddling in the affairs of Wizards. I should like a bit of information as well as danger. I would like a look at that ball."**

**~ Pippin, "The Palantír"**

* * *

The wind that night was unusually cold and biting, but it did not bother me. My Elvish skin and magic protected me from the elements more than my cloak did. I had been standing out on the eastern side of Meduseld for a few hours now, perfectly still so as not to disturb my concentration. The nearly indiscernible shadow that I had detected in the back of my mind had been worrying: and so I had spent these last couple of hours looking towards Mordor, painstakingly making my way mentally towards Sauron, trying to go undetected myself. What was he planning…?

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Estel, who had exited the hall and spotted me almost immediately. He walked slowly and carefully towards me, making sure that I was aware of his presence and could handle an interruption (a gesture which I appreciated).

Without taking my eyes off of Mordor almost two hundred leagues away, I murmured to him the information I had gathered. "The stars are veiled…something stirs in the East. A sleepless malice."

Aragorn looked askance at me, eyebrows creased in concern. My eyes flickered to his briefly, and I nodded shortly. Our attention turned back towards Mordor. "The Eye of the Enemy is moving," I whispered. "But I cannot yet discern his intentions…"

Estel pursed his lips, resting his hand gently on the hilt of his sword. "If his gaze is fixed on us, then at least it is not on Frodo and Sam."

I nodded slowly in agreement. "Indeed. But the question is…why is it _not_ on Frodo and Sam? What could be more important to Sauron than trying to find the One Ring?"

Aragorn stiffened, and I could tell that he understood my fears. With a sigh, he gently placed a hand on my shoulder. The motion's message was clear: _We can do nothing but wait for him to err, and reveal his plans to us…_

I frowned at that, closing my eyes and beginning to concentrate on the Dark Lord again. As I connected to my mental form once again, I discovered something both shocking and unnerving: the shadow had grown larger, and darker. Before I could drift out of my trance to warn Aragorn, however, a jolt of pure fire and pain ripped through my mind and body.

As my legs gave out, I could hear somebody crying out distantly, as if I was listening to it through deep water. It took me a few seconds to realize that the shrill scream had come from me.

_**"I SEE YOU"**_

I shouted in pain, grasping at Estel's cloak as he shook me and shouted in my ear. "Cári! Cári, prestad?" **| Cári, what's wrong? |** I tried to gulp in air but I couldn't control my lungs…Valar, I was still stuck in the psychic plane! I couldn't get out!

"ELLACÁRI THRANDUILIEL! ECHUIO!" **| Awaken! |** Aragorn shouted, jolting me out of my own mind. I gasped, almost collapsing again as my eyes cleared and I could see again. The shadow and fire was still there, but I was able to mute it – how long I would be able to was still yet to be discovered.

Before I could be sucked under again, I gripped Estel's cloak, making him meet my eyes. "He is _here_!" I gasped, grabbing his wrist, and tugging towards the door. For a second, he stood his ground, still confused. "The palantír!" I shouted, and his eyes suddenly widened in understanding.

We sprinted inside the hall.

* * *

The mental fire and anguish was easy to track back to our communal room, and even before we slammed the door open, we could hear Merry's screams of "Help! Help, Gandalf! Somebody help him!"

Aragorn and I burst into the room at the same moment that Mithrandir, Dan, and Ro awoke. To our horror, in the corner of the room writhed Pippin, clutching the seeing stone which glowed fiery red…in the center, a large, pulsing Eye.

For a moment, I was blinded by the sheer darkness and evil that emanated from the orb. All the breath was knocked from my lungs, and I was almost sucked back into my own head again. Aragorn and Gandalf's dual cry of "Pippin!" jolted me out of it, and I forced my eyes back to the palantír.

Estel rushed past me and without a second thought, grabbed the palantír from the convulsing hobbit. I froze for a split-second in terror as my elen-gwanûr immediately fell to the floor, curling in on himself as all the blood drained from his face.

I shrieked as I realized that the _Heir of Isildur _was now having _direct mental contact_ with _Sauron_, who did not even know that said heir _existed_. "No!"

After a millisecond of bracing myself, I ripped the palantír out of my thrashing friend's hands. There were two whole heartbeats where agonizing, unbearable, _unspeakable_ pain seized my mind, body, and feä. But a part of my torn-asunder skull must have realized that I _must get it away throw it leave go stop eca ECA PUSTA ANI LERYA! _**| go away GO AWAY STOP RELEASE ME! |**

I distantly felt myself falling to the ground, and as my eyes rolled into the back of my head, the palantír slowly fell out of my hands. It moved a few feet before Mithrandir finally grabbed his cloak, throwing it atop the orb and almost immediately shutting Sauron out with the magic infused into the cloth.

"Fool of a Took!" Mithrandir shouted, whipping around harshly but immediately softening when he saw Pippin's numb and shocked position on the floor.

As the wizard and an anxious Merry tended to Pippin, Elladan and Elrohir tried to help Aragorn and I. Elrohir gently lifted me up so my head was resting in his lap, looking into my eyes and checking my pulse simultaneously. "I'm fine, I'm fine," I muttered, trying to wave him off and turn towards Aragorn. To my chagrin, the second I moved, a wave of nausea struck me, and for a moment I thought I was going to be sick. "Don't worry about Estel," Elrohir said firmly, pressing me slowly back into his lap and resting his hand over my eyes, forcing me to breathe evenly and regain control of my stomach. "Just rest. Just—Just stay here for a moment…" He trailed off, tightening his arms around me and pressing a relieved kiss to my forehead. I breathed deeply, reaching up slowly and resting my hand in his hair, petting the raven locks occasionally and just _breathing_, for a minute.

"Look at me…" Mithrandir's soothing, but insistent voice broke me out of my peaceful state. Slowly, I rose into a sitting position (relieved when there was only a twinge of discomfort), and wrapped an arm around Elrohir's shoulders to steady myself. Aragorn glanced at me, mentally assuring me that he was okay, and asking me if I was the same. I nodded in reply, and we both turned our attention back to the still shocked Halfling.

"G-Gandalf…Forgive me!" Pippin sobbed out, and my heart clenched in pity.

"Look at me," Mithrandir insisted again, laying a calming hand on the trembling hobbit's brow. "What did you see?"

Pippin swallowed heavily, before speaking. "A tree…there was a white tree, in a courtyard of stone. It was—" He hesitated, tears welling up in his eyes. "It was _dead_. The city was burning…"

My eyes widened: this city he spoke of sounded sickeningly familiar. "Minas Tirith?" Mithrandir asked urgently. "Is that what you saw?"

"I saw…" Pippin choked on his tears, shaking his head and sobbing. "I saw _him_! I could—I could hear his voice…in my head!" I winced in sympathy, for I knew _that_ feeling far too well.

"What did you tell him?" Mithrandir probed. "Speak!"

"H-He asked me my name. I didn't answer. He hurt me…" Pippin sobbed again.

"What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?" Mithrandir asked with palpable worry in his voice.

Thankfully, after another sob at the question, Pippin shook his head, his eyes brimming with truth (I doubted that he would have lied in such a dire situation anyway).

As one, we all sighed in relief. "Thank the Valar," I breathed, my body instantly relaxing in Elrohir's arms.

Mithrandir nodded in absentminded agreement, and when he turned back to Pippin, the wizard's eyes were noticeably softer. "Thank you, Peregrin," He murmured, and the second he stood up, Merry was hugging the shaking hobbit in relief.

The wizard glanced at a still horizontal Aragorn and shook his head. "Foolish man…" He said, exasperated. He turned to me. "Did Sauron recognize him?" His real inquiry remained unspoken: _Does Sauron know who the Heir of Isildur is?_

I shook my head. "I do not believe so. Estel only had contact for a second or two at most, and I blocked my mind the best I could while I was holding it." Mithrandir nodded in approval.

"We seem to have averted a catastrophe…and only by the skin of our teeth." The wizard said, sighing tiredly and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "…Wake the rest of our companions up," He said to the twins. "And find King Théoden," he continued, looking at me. "Then meet us in the main hall in ten minutes."

* * *

"There was no lie in Pippin's eyes," Mithrandir said, glancing at the aforementioned hobbit. "A fool…but an honest fool he remains. He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring."

Those who did not already know this sighed in relief. We had all gathered in the Golden Hall of Meduseld to discuss the newly developed situation. Éomer and Éowyn had not joined us, but those of the remaining Fellowship were there, as well as Dan and Ro, and King Théoden.

"We have been strangely fortunate," Mithrandir continued. "Pippin saw in the palantír a glimpse of the enemy's plan: Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith."

"His defeat at Helm's Deep showed our enemy one thing: he knows an heir of Elendil has come forth…but he does not yet know _who_ this heir is, nor where he dwells, thanks to Thranduiliel here." He nodded at me. I smiled grimly, and Elrohir, who had been holding my hand since we left the communal room, gripped me tighter.

"Because of this, men are not as weak as Sauron supposed," Mithrandir continued. "There is courage still, strength enough perhaps to challenge him. Sauron fears this. He will not risk the peoples of Middle-Earth uniting under one banner."

The wizard glanced pensively at the king, before saying loudly, "He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a king return to the throne of men. If the Beacons of Gondor are lit…" He stared intently at Théoden. "Rohan _must_ be ready for war."

A few seconds of silence passed, before the king spoke. "Tell me…why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours?"

All of our heads swiveled to look at the seemingly indifferent man, who had crossed his arms in a defensive position. "What do we owe Gondor?"

Aragorn's eyes narrowed in slight annoyance, before saying decisively, "I will go."

"No!" Mithrandir and I growled at once.

"They must be warned!" Estel countered. I crossed my arms and widened my stance protectively. That man would _not_ be leaving this city, not on my watch.

"They will be," Mithrandir assured him, and as I saw Aragorn relax, I did the same. "You must come to Minas Tirith by another road."

Lowering his tone, Mithrandir began muttering to my friend. I was certain the others could not discern what was being said, but I could hear them very clearly (whether it was the wizard's intention for me to overhear, I did not know).

"Follow the river…and look to the _black ships_…" My eyebrows furrowed. The black ships…he couldn't possibly mean…?

"Understand this," Mithrandir interrupted my musings. "Things are now in motion that cannot be undone." His back straightening in authority, the wizard stated decisively: "I ride for Minas Tirith."

"…And I will not be going alone…"

* * *

After Mithrandir had ordered Merry and Pippin to go get their cloaks, he explained to us what he planned to do. Pippin was to come with him to Minas Tirith, a three days ride, at least – and that was if they _didn't_ run into trouble.

The encounter with Sauron had given us many advantages: the identity of Aragorn remained hidden, Frodo and Sam's purpose and location was still secret, and we had managed to determine some of the enemy's plans. But our one loss was a dangerous one.

It was clear that Sauron now thought that Pippin had the Ring. And that meant that the hobbit had to get out of Edoras…_now_.

Standing on the balcony of our rooms in Meduseld an hour later, Elrohir and I watched with pained expressions as Mithrandir and Pippin sped off towards Gondor on Shadowfax…Merry and Aragorn looking on forlornly from a watchtower.

"Naamarie, mellyn-nîn…" **| Farewell, my friends |** My beloved murmured, resting his head atop of mine and sighing heavily.

"…Tenna enta lúmë."** | Until our next meeting** | I finished the blessing under my breath in Quenya as I shifted closer to Elrohir.

Unbeknownst to us, at that moment – as Shadowfax disappeared over the horizon – two hobbits continued to trek towards Mordor; a caravan of Elves had just reached the borders of Mirkwood; and a thousand leagues away in Imladris, a descendant of Lúthien had made a destiny-altering choice.

But that was neither here nor there.

Because all we in Edoras could do now…was wait.

* * *

Translations –

**Cári, prestad? – Cári, what's wrong? (lit. Cári, is there trouble?)**

**ECHUIO! – AWAKEN!  
**  
_eca ECA PUSTA ANI LERYA! – go away GO AWAY STOP RELEASE ME!_

**Naamarie, mellyn-nîn – Farewell, my friends  
**  
_Tenna enta lúmë – Until our next meeting_

* * *

**Word-Count: 2,284**

**Hi guys~! A quicker update with a bit longer chapter…! I'm rather proud of myself, actually. Hopefully I'll be able to keep this schedule permanently. ^^**

**Nothing much else to say, really. As always, thank you guys for all your reviews, favorites, and follows~! Everything you do for this story just makes me really happy :)**

**Naamarie!**

**~ CC.**


	33. The Beacons Call for War

**Disclaimer: Eh. Still doesn't belong to me (and it's not like I wish for it every night…pfft…no…)**

**So long story short, here's the next chapter. I know, I know, I'm a horrible author, I should really try to update sooner, I hate myself, dishonor on myself, dishonor on my family, dishonor on my cow, etc. etc. The whole nine yards. No, but really, I am sorry. School is winding down, so I'll probably be able to do a lot more during the summer…between driver's ed, college searching, and SAT prep…yeah, I'll get some stuff done. Hopefully. I swear, I will!**

**…But yeah. So there's a bit of a time gap here – and by that I mean a lot of stuff happens with the other characters in between the end of the last chapter and the beginning of this one, but Aragorn and company don't know about it, so I can't exactly comment on it. So, just as a recap, Gandalf and Pippin arrive in Minas Tirith, Denethor is basically a jerk, Minas Morgul lets out that pillar of fire thing, and Frodo, Sam, and Gollum start climbing the stairs.**

**So…yeah, that's basically it. I have one anon review to reply to, and then we can get on to the chapter~! ^^**

**"dilila" – Glad you liked this chapter! And yep, I will definitely be looking forward to Legolas being in the next movie(s)! I've seen the pic, and the Hobbit video diaries on YouTube. So there is evidence! That's comforting~ ^^ And yep, I will try to be updating soon in general. My new schedule is a little bit better than my old one, I think. :)**

Chapter 33 – The Beacons Call for War

* * *

"**As for the king, he will go to the muster that he commanded at Edoras…And there, I think, he will hear tidings of war, and the Riders of Rohan will go down to Minas Tirith."**

**~ Aragorn, "The Passing of the Grey Company"**

* * *

Mithrandir and Pippin had left Edoras for Minas Tirith at dawn on March 6th, if my internal clock was to be trusted. But it was not until the 9th that we received any word from them.

Three days passed slowly, and with little activity. Tension was thick whenever any of my companions and I ventured into Meduseld, due to Théoden's increasingly conflicted thoughts about riding to Gondor's aid. It frustrated me that my own brethren – of which so few remained on Arda – had sacrificed themselves for Rohan with little hesitation, and yet the king could not bear to do the same for those of his own race. But despite my misgivings, I stayed silent: this decision had to be made by Man alone.

I spent most of this rare and treasured idle time with Ro, Dan, Merry and Éowyn. Aragorn had stationed himself in clear view of Whitehorn Mountains, which I knew was where the Last Warning Beacon was located. Amon Anwar it was called, and I knew it well, for the first time I had seen it up close was when it was being made.

* * *

"Once upon a time, a king of Rohan would have been horrified at the idea of just standing idle and letting a city of Gondor fall." Aragorn glanced at me, raising an eyebrow at my change of subject.

It was early afternoon on the 8th of March, and the remaining members of our company had retreated from the Golden Hall to eat, relax, and watch the Beacon. Éowyn and Éomer had joined us, for even they could not endure any more of their people's anxiety.

"My uncle is…hesitant," Éowyn said, almost halfheartedly defending him. "Our people have been through much: he does not want to drag them into a war which he thinks is hopeless."

"If Minas Tirith falls, he will not only think it is hopeless: it _will_ be hopeless." Elladan retorted, playing absentmindedly with a piece of grass.

Gimli grunted, and took a swig from his flagon which was undoubtedly filled with alcohol. I considered reminding him about what had happened the last time he had gotten inebriated, but eventually decided against it. It would only make him more determined to get drunk.

"As King of Rohan, Théoden has a responsibility to help Gondor in its time of need," I asserted, lifting my head up from where it had been resting in Elrohir's lap. "A responsibility that has been passed down through his bloodline since Eorl's time."

"But the king is right!" Éomer said angrily. "Gondor did not once interfere in Saruman's destruction on our behalf! They did not even have the decency to come to Helm's Deep. Why should we—"

"The only reason they did not," I quickly shot back, "is because the current Steward is a selfish, horrible man who would let a million people die just to spare _his _worthless existence." I felt bile rise to the back of my throat at the thought of Denethor. The Stewards who had come immediately after the Last King Eärnur had done the best they could, I would admit, but the line had been in a sharp decline ever since Thorondir had died, and took the White Tree with him. I had only met Denethor a few times – before Boromir or his brother were born – and I still maintained that those few times were quite enough. He was worryingly cunning and ruthless: and from Boromir's stories about his brother, I could tell his childrearing skills weren't much better.

"Denethor is doing the best he can," Aragorn interjected, still staring off into the distance. I glanced at him. "You only defend him out of misguided loyalty to his father."

"Did you not do the same with Isildur?" The man snapped, and I flinched as if I had been slapped.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elladan's eyes narrow, and with a sharp movement he kicked Aragorn's thigh. The man glared at him, irritated, and yet his eyes softened when he looked at me.

"It is not the same thing at all," I muttered, not meeting his eyes. My chest suddenly felt tight. Had I in fact cared for Isildur only because I respected Elendil?

Dan quickly steered the conversation towards lighter topics, but before we rejoined the discussion, Aragorn rested his rough hand on mine, and the soft words of _Goheno nîn_ **| Forgive me |**floated through my mind. I smiled at him, returning the sentiment.

"What did you mean, Ellacári?" Éowyn's question startled Aragorn and I out of our reverie. I raised an inquiring eyebrow. "When you said that my uncle's responsibility has been passed down through his bloodline." She clarified.

A small smile graced my lips as I leaned backwards so I was looking up at the sky. "I am surprised you do not know of it. 2510 of the Third Age. Steward Cirion of Gondor invited Eorl to Minas Tirith to set up an alliance between Rohan and Gondor. That beacon—" I indicated Amon Anwar "—is where they affirmed their oath."

I glanced at the niece and nephew of Theoden. "'Twas a very important union. Amon Anwar is the tomb of Elendil. Before that moment, nobody but Isildur and Anárion had even gone near the grave: such was people's respect for the dead king. Cirion and Eorl's decision to create the system of the Warning Beacons – and place the last lantern atop the king's crypt – gave their alliance true meaning."

"I stood on that mountaintop – Valar, was it really more than a millennium ago? – stood with those rulers of Men, and watched them swear to defend each other." I glanced at Éomer. "It is true that Denethor has not upheld his end of that oath, but that does not mean your uncle should abandon Gondor or its people in their time of need."

"Here, here," Elrohir murmured, and began to braid a strand of my hair.

"King Théoden's decision is his own," Aragorn asserted firmly. "All we can really do is wait to see what his verdict is."

"I am confident," Éowyn said quietly. "I have faith in uncle. I am confident."

Elrohir and I exchanged terse glances. "Na-tó pen-o mîn." **| At least that's one of us | **I murmured to my beloved. There was a slightly uncomfortable silence for a few seconds, but soon enough Gimli changed the topic to lighter subjects, and we were off again. Yet another day passed without word from Minas Tirith.

Yet another day closer to war.

* * *

On the evening of the third day in Edoras, just before sunset, Gimli, Éomer, the twins and I were speaking with Théoden: discussing battle strategies. As far as we could tell, the king was still undecided about whether to help Gondor or not…but we made sure to debate every course of action, whatever his decision may be.

Just as Éowyn had come in to force us to eat supper, a loud _bang_ sounded from the other end of the hall, and a familiar voice shouted, "The Beacons of Minas Tirith! The Beacons are lit!"

We all whirled around to see a frantic Aragorn, his face flushed with excitement. "Gondor calls for aid!"

Aragorn's eyes burned into Théoden's as everyone in the hall turned their gazes to watch the king. A few seconds passed…my body as stiff as a board as I realized that the fate of the world might depend on this one moment.

Finally, the king spoke.

"…And Rohan will answer."

My heart jumped in pure relief and joy, as grins broke out universally throughout the hall. "Muster the Rohirrim," Théoden commanded to his nephew and general, and they both ran out of the hall, quick to obey his orders.

The king and his generals departed outside to arm themselves and plan our route (from what I could hear, we would be assembling at Dunharrow in two days…then we would ride for Minas Tirith). Elrohir turned to me, grasping my hand and asking, "Will you arm yourself here?"

I shook my head. "Nay, nay, I will wait until the encampment. There is no use in wearing it now." Elladan, having overheard our conversation, walked over. "Wear your mithril under-armor, at least. I will put all of our suits into one of the Rohirrim caravans, to be retrieved later."

We nodded, and as his twin walked off to find our armor, Elrohir turned to face me. "To battle?" I grinned and nodded. "To battle." With a returning smile, he leaned down and captured my lips in a soft kiss. I smiled into it, leaning forward and wrapping my arms around his neck.

"Ahem," A cough sounded from behind us. Both of our brows furrowed, and I inwardly grumbled for the pest to just go away.

"AHEM!" The dwarf – because yes, of course it was Gimli – cleared his throat even louder. I growled low in my throat, and reluctantly pulled away from Elrohir. "Bastard," I muttered, and Elrohir chuckled in agreement.

We turned to Gimli with matching glares. "What, dwarf?" My lover asked with a scowl.

"If you two are quite finished…we have a war to get back to!" Gimli shouted, throwing up his arms and walking away, mumbling distantly about "love-addled elves."

I rolled my eyes, but glanced back at Ro. "As much as I hate to admit it," I murmured, brushing his cheek with my hand, "He is right. We should go find our horses…it's going to be a long ride to Dunharrow." The other elf nodded, but before we departed, he caught my wandering hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. "Come." He whispered, lowering but still clasping my hand. I smiled; how could I not?

Together, we walked out of Meduseld and towards the restless horses. Edoras had become quite hectic in just a few minutes: horsemen and foot soldiers wandered around and called orders, and women ran about, packing supplies and emergency healing kits.

On one side of us, I spotted Merry talking to King Théoden. This did not worry me much, since I knew that the hobbit had been planning to swear his allegiance to the king before we rode to war. But on our other side, I spotted Aragorn and Éowyn speaking in hushed tones near their horses. I could not be certain, but I suspected that Éowyn was not going to stand for being left behind this time. I was glad, but slightly worried: I had faith in the shield-maiden of course, but real battle is significantly different from training. _Do not worry so. I'm sure she will be fine_…

When Ro and I reached the horses, Gimli and Elladan were already there waiting. Dan handed his twin a set of reigns, and Ro reluctantly left my side to mount the steed. After seeing the dwarf looking at me impatiently from the ground, I leapt atop Arod easily, and pulled Gimli up after me.

All of us stood watching the Rohirrim for a few minutes in silence, overseeing the hustle and bustle of soldiers preparing for war. "Horsemen, hmph!" Gimli said eventually. "I wish I could muster a legion of _dwarves_: fully armed and filthy."

"Your kinsmen may have no need to ride to war," I replied quietly, thinking of the dwarves of Erebor, and the corpses we found in Moria. "I fear war already marches on their own lands." Then I thought of my own home, of Mirkwood…of my father, who might be fighting off Sauron's forces at that moment. As Gimli grunted in reluctant agreement, I sighed and let the disquieting thoughts wash over me, just this once.

Elrohir caught my eyes, and his gaze softened in understanding when he saw their turmoil. And when I looked into his eyes in return, I saw my own worries reflected there: he feared for his own family, back in Imladris. For his father and sister; for Glorfindel and Erestor, and Lindir as well.

But as we turned back to the fields of Edoras, my lover and I were not weakened by these thoughts: instead, we were strengthened. We were reminded once again who we fought for. Who we had gone on our respective quests for. And who we were prepared, if necessary, to die for.

"Now is the hour!" Éomer shouted to our company, spurring his horse into action. "Riders of Rohan! Oaths you have taken! Now, fulfill them all! To Lord and Land!"

With an agreeing roar from the rest of the Rohirrim, our company rode off, hooves collectively hitting the ground so loudly it sounded like the crashing of a waterfall.

It was here. The time of reckoning had come.

_So it is before the walls of Minas Tirith, the doom of our time will be decided._

* * *

Translations –

**Goheno nîn – Forgive me**

**Na-tó pen-o mîn – At least that's one of us**

* * *

**Word-Count: 2,133**

**So, yep! Here was the new chapter. Took 4 months, and it wasn't as long as I would've wanted it to be…but yeah. Hopefully, I'll be able to update a lot more, since I am FINALLY on summer vacation (oh joyous day), so I'll have much more time to work on it.**

**Hoped you liked what little there is. I'll update soon~!**

**Naamarie.**

**~ CC.**


	34. Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

**Disclaimer: Nope, still doesn't belong to me. I will keep drawing pentagrams in the blood of my enemies, however, in the hopes of summoning the ghost of Tolkien to hand over the copyrights (*deadpan*)…**

**…Yeah it's been a long couple of months…**

**Anyway. Your wayward author has returned once again. Ok I feel really bad because I actually managed to write the majority of this chapter like, 2 weeks after my last update. And then I got to a point where I just couldn't write anything that didn't suck for like, 5 months or something like that. It was bad. Thus, the latter part of this chapter feels a little forced to me, but I think it's okay. I hope you guys enjoy it~!**

**(Also, yes, there is a Daft Punk reference in this chapter. I know, weird, but it makes more sense in context. Anybody who can point it out to me gets brownie points~!)**

**Since this chapter is being posted after the Hobbit: DoS is released, I'll write about it in my final A/N of this chapter. Stay tuned for fangirlish squealing~!**

Chapter 34 – Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

* * *

"**If you would understand them better, then I bid you come with me. For that way I now shall take…Only of your free will would I have you come, for you will find both toil and great fear, and maybe worse."**

**~ Aragorn**

"**I will go with you even on the Paths of the Dead, and to whatever end they may lead."**

**~ Gimli**

"**I also will come…for I do not fear the Dead."**

**~ Legolas, "The Passing of the Grey Company"**

* * *

"How many, Lieutenants?"

_**dark dark dark so dark sleeping sick with death**_

"Five hundred from the Westfold, my Lord!"

_**awake choking on dreams**_

"Three hundred more from Fenmarch!"

_**listening loudly silent screams**_

"No riders have come from Snowbourn, my Lord."

_**un-dead un-alive  
LOOK AT THE BLOOD I'VE BLED**_

I flinched harshly as the shouts from the Rohirrim crescendoed with the voices in my head.

Elladan and Elrohir glanced at me worriedly, and behind me, Gimli grasped the fabric around my hips a little tighter to keep me upright. I bit my lip to stifle a groan as the voices only grew louder.

_**raining blood sweet sticky salty red red red ALL RED**_

I hissed in pain. The chants blurred my eyes and muffled my ears, making it difficult to focus on anything around me, and forcing me to bring Arod to a halt. Since Estel had already left our part of the caravan – he had fallen behind to speak with Théoden about our numbers – it was the twins who quietly surrounded me on either side as I prepared to dismount Arod.

Trembling, I gripped my horse's mane and slid off his back. Arod's nervous whickering echoed my own breath of anguish as my head spun. Ro nervously gripped my elbow as he led me to sit up against a boulder; Gimli and Dan following us worriedly.

_**burnt out wasted empty hollow incurable disease**_

"What's goin' on?" Gimli growled out at the twins for the hundredth time. "It was just her at first…now the horses and men are quiet too…"

A new hand was placed gently on my forehead, and I looked up dizzily to see Éomer testing my temperature. I grimaced at the implications: I must be really out of it to not even sense a human a meter away.

"They grow uneasy in the shadow of the mountain. I can assume that it is only worse for your companion here."

Ro nodded at the man in confirmation of his theory, and I closed my eyes heavily and began chanting inwardly myself, trying to create a mental block.

"That road _there_," Gimli asked, pointing at a thin cavern in the side of the mountain. "Where does that lead?"

"It's the road to the Dimholt," I whispered, glaring at said path. "The door under the mountain."

"None who venture there ever return," Éomer said. "That mountain is evil."

Estel wandered up behind us and rested a calming hand on the back of my neck as I tried to relax my mind. As my friend gazed into the crag, the voices grew louder and louder, and I realized as Aragorn tensed next to me that it was enveloping us both…

_**blood shines black shadows swarm  
lifeless eyes empty  
gaping mouths  
last breath forever ours  
return return RETURN  
elessar ELESS—  
—Thran—  
—AR ELESSAR—  
—duiliel come to ussss….**_

"Aragorn!" Gimli shouted, snapping us both out of the trance. Estel and I jumped, gasping heavily as the voices abruptly stopped. As Dan and Ro glanced at us both anxiously, Gimli began to turn away, tapping my friend's arm to get his attention. "Let's find some food."

Estel met my eyes – his edginess extremely clear – but nevertheless, followed the dwarf back into the center of camp.

"Ellacàri, I don't know what's going on in your head," Ro whispered, making sure that a still near Éomer could not overhear us. "But you need to make sure that you can handle being this close to the Dimholt. Can you drown them out for a while?"

I glanced at him and nodded, already preparing a spell in my head. Dan and Ro closed in around me, subtly blocking me from the Rohirrim men's sights.

_If spirits threaten me in this place  
Mac nen-i-nen ar ur-i-ur _**| Fight water by water and fire by fire |**_  
Banish their souls into nothingness  
Let these evil beings flee…  
Ter lúme ar ilmen… _**| Through time and space… |**"Eteleht nai…" **| Let it be done |** I whispered, finishing the incantation.

A tense silence filled my head – like the sound of a bowstring before it is fired – but after a moment it snapped, and blissful solitude settled in my mind once again.

"Ellacàri?" Dan asked hesitantly, resting a hand on my elbow. I nodded in response to his silent question.

"I'm fine," I said quietly, tapping his hand gently to reassure him. "I've blocked them out for now."

Dan and Ro both sighed in relief, and stood up in unison, bringing me with them. "Come," Elrohir said quietly, leading my suddenly exhausted body away to a hastily constructed tent. "You need rest."

When we reached it, Dan stayed outside and began sharpening his sword quietly, clearly standing guard at my resting place. I rolled my eyes halfheartedly, but was too tired to say anything. Ro entered the shelter after me, and – ignoring my soft complaints – set me down upon one of the bedrolls.

"Losto, Càri," **| Sleep, Càri |** he whispered, gently brushing a stray braid away from my face. "Ollo vae, meleth-nîn…" **| Sweet dreams, my love… |**

My eyes began to glaze over, and I barely had the energy to reach over and grasp his arm. "Darth, Rochbenîn…saes…abarad?" **| Stay, Rochbenîn…please…until tomorrow? |** I managed to murmur out, my words slurred and barely coherent.

A light chuckle came from behind me, but I didn't have the energy to turn my head and look at him. "Be iest lîn." **| According to your wish |**

I smiled triumphantly and quickly tugged him down next to me. For some reason, I could not bear to be parted from him. Maybe it was the proximity to the Dimholt, or my latent clairvoyant abilities, but I had the strangest feeling that I would be separated from him; even though we had only just found each other.

Just as I felt my brow furrowing in worry, Elrohir gently threw his arm over my waist. "Cári, stop thinking so much." I chuckled quietly, but felt my headache easing as I relaxed.

"Losto…losto…" **| Sleep…sleep… |**

* * *

When I awakened a few hours later, it was already dark, and Elrohir had unfortunately left the bedroll. Fortunately, the other side of the mat was still warm, which meant that he could not have gone far.

I exited our tent and almost immediately collided with the twins. Dan and Ro looked up at me from their seats outside the flap, their eyes dark and shrouded as they sharpened their weapons.

"…Prestad, peredhil?" **| Trouble, peredhil? |** I asked quietly, brushing my hand affectionately across Elrohir's cheek.

"Adar is here," Elladan murmured, neither of the brothers looking up as my head twisted to stare at Dan incredulously.

"What?" I questioned, non-comprehending at first.

"Our father is here," Elrohir repeated unnecessarily.

I stared at the two of them, eyes widened. Elrond? _Here_? Why in the world had he traveled all the way to Rohan, so distant from the safety of Imladris? But more importantly… "Why are you here and not there?"

"He is speaking to Estel." Elladan replied noncommittally, although the tightened fist on his sword hilt told me he was more troubled than he let on.

"…And what about, may I ask?" I continued to push. Why were they so reluctant to give me information?

Elrohir looked up and met my eyes, and I could see a deep, mournful sadness in them. "What do you think?"

My entire body tensed as it finally hit me. "Elbereth," I swallowed heavily. "Is she…?"

"She is alive," Elladan answered my unspoken question, not taking his eyes off of a tent across the clearing (which I assumed was where this infamous conversation was taking place). "Adar has told us that much. She is alive. But for how long…"

"…We do not know." His twin finished quietly. "Her light, like all of ours, is failing. Our sister's fate is tied to the outcome of this war." As Ro continued to speak, his form tensed so severely that his hands began to tremble. "This wretched, thrice-damned, _insane war_!"

I watched miserably as my love slowly became undone in the light of such hopelessness for both us and his sister. Slowly I lowered myself to the ground, my legs gently touching his, and clasped his hand.

After a minute of ragged gasps which eventually became soft breaths, Elrohir hoarsely whispered, "Goheno nîn." **| Forgive me |**

"Ú-moe edamed, Elrohir," **| There is nothing to forgive |** I whispered in return, unconsciously echoing Aragorn's own words of absolution from that horrible night at Helm's Deep.

"There are times when I just feel so _weak_," Ro murmured, shaking his head as if to ward off his aforesaid feelings. "The evil of this world is taking hold of me…I can feel it in my veins…see it on my hands, bloodstained as they are."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elladan silently stand and walk away from our hushed conversation: the other twin could tell this was something that Ro and I needed to handle alone.

"How can we ever win this war, Ellacàri?" Ro murmured after a beat of silence, still gripping my hand tightly. "I have tried so hard to have faith in the forces of Eru beyond our control, but with Adar's news about Arwen I feel myself losing that faith. How can we overcome this shadow when one of the most pure beings on Middle-Earth is losing herself to it?"

"Arwen is strong," I unwaveringly replied. "As we all are. War is dark and cruel, but it has also made us harder, made us faster, made us _stronger_. Sauron underestimates us and that will be his undoing. We will defeat him and reclaim this world as ours."

"Elrohir," I continued, resting my hand gently on his cheek and turning his eyes towards me. "I may have doubts of my own – more often than you may believe – but I have never been surer of anything than I am of our eventual victory. If you cannot trust Fate, or the Gods, or even Illúvatar himself…trust that. Trust me."

Elrohir gazed into my eyes for a long, tense moment, before murmuring, "I have seen much evil in my life and you even more than I…how can you still have so much hope?"

My eyes softened, and almost involuntarily, words that I knew we would both recognize with startlingly familiarity escaped my lips. "Ónen g-estel nîn, a-thi ú-chebin estel gîn." | _**You**_** give me hope, and yet it seems you keep none for yourself |**

I half-expected for my beloved to react negatively to the variation of the solemn words written on Gilraen's tomb, but he surprised me. With a small smile, Elrohir reached out and swept me into a warm embrace. After a moment of stillness, I relaxed in his arms and hugged him back, a feeling of never wanting to let go coming over me.

"I have a dark feeling in my heart that our paths shall soon diverge, Càri," Ro whispered in my ear, and my eyes widened as I realized he had been experiencing the same forewarnings as I had. "But your words have restored a sliver of hope in me, and that is enough for now. No matter where our destinies take us, I believe that Illuvatar will eventually lead us safely back into each other's arms."

I felt tears pricking in my eyes at his words, and gave in to the urge to hug him even tighter.

A few seconds passed before a noise from the other side of camp startled us out of our embrace. Elrohir and I both turned our heads to see that Aragorn had quietly (at least to the ears of men) slipped out of the king's tent, and had started walking towards his horse. We continued watching as, moments later, Elrond exited as well, his cloak billowing about him. He met both of our eyes, and nodded sadly, as if acknowledging something that Elrohir and I had dared not to speak aloud.

Elrond quickly disappeared into the darkness of the camp with his horse, and I had no doubt that he would be returning to the nearest Elvish settlement, possibly my own home. But Ro and I turned our attention to Estel, who was now arguing quietly with Éowyn.

"By the Valar," I whispered in horror. "Elrond told him to go through the Dimholt."

Glimpses of darkness and rotting flesh flashed before my eyes, and I winced. No one knew why the Dimholt Road was haunted…why it unsettled men and scared horses. No one except those who had been there all those millennia ago…and those who had been told the legends.

Elrohir let out an anguished sigh, and his arms tightened around me as he buried his face in my hair. "This is it," he murmured. "This is where we are separated…I can feel it."

I turned my head so I could look into his eyes. They were filled with unshed tears. "You must go with him."

I swallowed heavily. "Elrohir…"

"Do not lie and say that you do not know this in your heart as well," he replied, his voice filled with agony, and it felt as if a knife had been stuck in my chest.

I could feel cries vibrating deep within my body – wanting to escape – but I did not let them. I knew that we must be strong: must have faith that Eru would return us to each other, just as Elrohir had said.

"Lass?" A gruff voice asked inquisitively. I turned my face away from Ro's neck to see Gimli standing next to us, somehow both looking at Aragorn's retreating back and at our embrace. "What's goin' on, my girl?"

I inhaled deeply to calm my voice into its usually stoniness, and said, "Aragorn. He is going through the Dimholt Road."

Gimli's eyebrows rose, and _I_ was impressed with _his_ sincerely unimpressed look. "The lad is an idiot."

"Yes," I muttered with a slight smile. Elrohir chuckled, glad that the mood of the conversation had lightened considerably. I think we were both beginning to understand: yes, we would be separated…but we must trust Eru. Trust that he would not abandon us.

"We are gonna follow him, yah?" The dwarf asked matter-of-factly, as if there was never even another option. It surprised me that while Gimli had no idea _why _Aragorn must travel the haunted path, he was still completely willing to follow him. Then again, he had agreed to join this suicidal quest in the first place, just as all of us had. Maybe it was not so unusual.

"Yes. Yes we are." I answered his question, growing more and more confident in this decision as every moment passed.

I carefully sprung from my seat on Ro's lap, and then helped him up after me. As Gimli grabbed the few things he needed from the tent next to ours, Elrohir helped me transform from forlorn and divided lover to strong and unyielding warrior. I took my twin knives and my bow and quiver, as well as the slender sword the twins and Haldir had gifted to me when they had arrived at Helm's Deep. I also made sure to grab some basic supplies to put in the sleek waist pouches of my breeches: things like medicine, some lembas, a small whetstone, and so on.

Elrohir watched me pack with an attentive gaze, and I took comfort in the fact that he would notice if I missed anything crucial. Just as I finished tightening my belt, I heard the distressing sounds of Éowyn storming away from Aragorn, and, when out of sight, beginning to weep. I winced in sympathy: Estel had no doubt just broken the young woman's heart, and it hurt me to see them both so saddened.

"I suppose that is your cue," Ro said, brushing his hands smoothly over my arms and waist: making sure that everything was secure. I nodded, and quickly leapt into his arms for one last embrace. I breathed in his scent and tried to remember this feeling, this moment, for the difficult times ahead.

"Come on, lass," Gimli muttered, clapping my back roughly. Elrohir and I both leaned away from each other and looked into each other's eyes.

"Na lû e-govaned vîn," **| Until next we meet | **Elrohir murmured, grabbing my hand and kissing the back of it in a flash. I smiled back at him. "N'i lû tôl." **| Until then |**

And with that, I turned away from him, and Gimli and I walked away: our fates completely in the hands of Providence.

* * *

"And just where do you think you're off to?"

Aragorn spun around to face us, his expression surprised, but determined. I could tell that he was still expecting to confront his demons alone: something that Gimli and I would simply not allow.

"Not this time," my friend objected. "This time you must stay, Gimli."

While Aragorn had been focused on dissuading Gimli, I had whistled softly and called Arod over to us. My horse was already saddled and packed with our bags, and he willingly (albeit still cautiously, because of the Dimholt) trotted over to us.

"Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?" I said to Estel with a sly grin. The human looked between us, a resigned look beginning to come over his face.

"Might as well accept it," Gimli chuckled. "We're going with you, laddie."

After a moment, Aragorn's face broke out into a relieved smile. "Thank you, my friends."

We led the two horses out into the middle of the clearing, and Estel and I mounted Brego and Arod respectively. As I was pulling Gimli up behind me, my gaze fell upon two figures at the far end of the camp. Elrohir stood beside his brother, and in the light of the morning sun, the Elrondion twins seemed to glow. I inhaled the cold air deeply and smiled at them both.

Slowly, my two fellow hunters and I moved towards the Paths of the Dead. Behind us, we could hear some of the Rohirrim questioning us, shouting surprised and slightly betrayed exclamations. But we did not stop. They would understand, if our quest succeeded.

And for that, we could only hope. And pray.

* * *

Translations –

_Mac nen-i-nen ar ur-i-ur – Fight water by water and fire by fire_

_Ter lúme ar ilmen – Through time and space  
_  
_Eteleht nai – Let it be done  
_  
**Losto, Càri – Sleep, Càri  
**  
**Ollo vae, meleth-nîn – Sweet dreams, my love**

**Darth, Rochbenîn…saes…abarad? – Stay, Rochbenîn…please…until tomorrow?**

**Be iest lîn – According to your wish**

**Losto…losto… – Sleep…sleep…**

**Prestad, peredhil? – Trouble, peredhil (half-elves)?**

**Adar – Father**

**Goheno nîn – Forgive me**

**Ú-moe edamed – There is nothing to forgive**

**Ónen g-estel nîn, a-thi ú-chebin estel gîn – You give me hope, and yet it seems you keep none for yourself**

**Na lú e-govaned vîn – Until next we meet**

**N'i lû tôl – Until then**

* * *

**Word-Count: 3,050**

**Alright, here's the new chapter. Again, really sorry for the wait. The reason I was able to finish/post this is because I am now on Christmas break. Now, I'm not going to promise anything – because I have a shit-ton of work to do, and I kinda do wanna relax a little during this vacation – but I**

**_might_ be able to get a majority of the next chapter done in the next 2 weeks or so.**

**I will truly try to pull through for you guys, because God knows that you deal with my sporadic updating with so much patience, it stuns me. So, thank you so much ^^**

**Before I end this A/N, I'll talk briefly about the Hobbit. In general, I'll just say that I really did love it. It wasn't up to par with any of the LOTR trilogy movies (then again, what is?), but I did like it more than the Hobbit: AUJ. Thranduil and Legolas were**

**_amazing_, they were my favorite parts of the movie (besides Tauriel and Bard). I was _kinda_ disappointed that Legolas didn't refer to Thranduil as Adar or Ada even once, but he did call him Father, which made me so very happy~! =D In conclusion, two thumbs up ^^**

**Welp, I guess that's it. Enjoy~(?)**

**Naamarie~**

**~ CC.**


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